Assassin's Creed III: The Kahnawake Song (Reboot)
by Zipporah.Michel
Summary: "Friends, let's go back to Kahnawake. We will go home to see our loved ones. They will be out for a walk; Up and down the land, waiting for our return..." Connor x OC (ACIII Mutiplayer characters included) (Mature Content Warning: Profanity, Adult Content, Violence, Sexual Themes)
1. Author's Note

For those that followed and are currently following the original fanfiction of this title, there is going to be a reboot posted with different scenes and content soon. Stay tuned! :D


	2. Chapter 1: Wonderland

**"()." is for when characters are speaking Mohawk.**

* * *

" _Savages may indeed be a formidable enemy to your raw American militia; but upon the king's regular and disciplined troops, Sir, it is impossible they should make an impression_."

\- British General Edward Braddock to Benjamin Franklin, 1755

* * *

Clouds of steady breaths filled the air as her firm hands were helpless to resist the urge to feel her stomach. Covered in brown furs and intricate embellishments of a proud people, brown eyes stared across the endless white that blanketed the land and a grey that masked the blue of the sky. The silence of her once jovial companion bear no boon to her as well for the very news she disclosed brought about a heavier weight upon them both. Her eyes continued to gaze and wander about the cold laid at her feet as her face tried for a show of less fear before her comrade.

"You..." a hooded man tried for words as the onslaught of emotions raptures them,"You aligned yourself with a Templar then?"

Her body stood completely still at that claim, finally lifting her eyes to gaze into his directly. A man of dark skin stood proudly on the porch of his mansion overlooking the woman at a complete loss. Long braids swayed as she comfortably shifted her weight in defense.

"I did not know he was a Templar," she started firmly, "Believe me-"

"You are a _Watcher_! How could you not have known?" his voice raised as he drew closer so that they were but a few feet away from each other. "If something so urgent as locating a Precursor Site was asked by someone outside the Brotherhood-"

"He came to my aid and that of my people. What would you have me do? Not repay the favor? He did not even find what he was looking for."

" _Ziio_..." he began, "What you have done not only places the Brotherhood in danger, but your people as well; you do well to remember that. Your actions against Braddock will inspire retaliation. And fraternizing so casually with someone as malignant as _Haytham_..."

The dark-skinned man pulled away from the gaze they shared, pulling back his hood to rub his nape in frustration. He had never expected his own friend-calm, collected, and determined in her convictions-to have close relations with an outsider because of a few detours, rescues, and misadventures. Ziio was groomed to be the next leader of her village and in that she vowed to protect them by any means necessary. An exterior as hard as hers should never have been breached so easily for she respects confidentiality above all else and would not have given herself simply because someone came to her aid. The man sighed roughly, musing on how it was as if he does not know his own companion. However, with her pauses and short words, he sensed that fraternizing wasn't the only activity she had partaken in with the known Templar.

"What **_else_** is there?" he huffed softly, as his gaze slowly returned to her fully,"Did you speak of other things?"

" **I am carrying his child** ," she stated.

Somehow it had gotten much colder. Though, Ziio was not entirely sure if it was for better or worse; the prospect of the latter was stronger. Perhaps this was all in bad time. After all, the man had recently lost those close to his heart and had much to grieve. The last thing he needed was to feel that the Creed had been betrayed again. First his pupil and now this. He was beginning to wonder what of her plans-her next course of action.

"As much as you insist on staying in the cold, I suggest we should discuss things further inside."

He nodded to the front door of his home. Ziio looked upon him with her eyes slightly widened. He was reluctant to speak with her for weeks on end after his loss and even now speaking of the Brotherhood's greatest bane being the cause of her swelling belly secretly made her apprehensive of his reaction, but now... She blinked the snowflakes that gently fell on her lashes and followed her friend into his home.

"Thank you," she smirked despite herself, " _Achilles_."

* * *

Both have settled inside and sat by the warm, lively hearth of brick and stone. Ziio sat on steady, soft furniture, tapping her fingers on the mug she held. Her eyes focused into the flames as Achilles went back and forth between and the kitchen before finally pulling a chair near to her. She made no move to acknowledge his presence, but to his words-the words he was sure to use carefully. Most likely the man would say something logical, but insensitive. She could take a lecture of how this was all one huge mistake; of course it was. Haytham had lied to her of his promise to take Braddock's life for her sake and the sake of her people. She took him to a place so sacred to her tribe and imperative to his findings. All in vain. All for nothing. Her mother's own words, voicing the obvious consequences still echoed in her ears.

 _"(I have told you countless times to not act, to not fight)." a woman with withered features and narrow eyes that had a glint of both deep wisdom and disappointment looked on her daughter as if she had carried the plague._

 _"(And yet, I did)," Ziio stood tall, "(I acted and now there will be no advances on our land; no enslavement on our kinsmen)."_

 _"(And that will be so... for now)." she started, "(Your way has endangered this sacred land. Your way would see our people killed)."_

 _"(No, it is your way that would see our lands taken and our people taken as slave or worse! You would have us stay our ground doing nothing as more strangers come to these lands and take what is not theirs! I will not sit in the dirt and let those pale men of fire and iron destroy us for all that we are and all that we have. I was raised to protect this village and that I shall)."_

 _"(Yes, that is true...)" the old woman took in her daughter's passionate words, "(Which is why I will consider removing you from the position)."_

 _Ziio's brows furrowed and wrinkled her freckled nose that her own mother declared. Something in her sparked as her mother spoke those harsh things with such a calm execution. She couldn't believe what she was hearing._

 _She was no longer fit to lead?_

 _She, who had pushed back those who would take everything from them?_

"Make no mistake, I still believe you have done something so criminal as to assist the Templars out of a favor, but to be with child from one of them?" Achilles snapped his native friend from her thoughts, her head jolted up to look at him. Ziio pursed her lips.

"How much longer until you are due? Should the time come..." he sighed deeply, "I will see to it that you are assisted."

"My mother is aware of my condition..."

"Hmph, I doubted she would have you exiled at such critical times, but with how you handled yourself against your 'enemy', I imagine leading your people will no longer be your concern."

"-What of my child?" she stood suddenly, "You have said that these Templars seek to control all and rid the world of free will-of everything!"

"Ziio-"

"How long would it be until my child desires power and control as their own father?"

"Because you will be the one responsible, Ziio," he interrupted with a calm demeanor, "The child would fear nothing and desire nothing more than committing to the greater good as you have. Perhaps your child will be different than you would have previously expected-maybe better than the generation before. Take it from someone who knows."

The native woman's face remained void of emotion as her eyes glazed over, mixed with them. He is speaking from experience and whether the sorrow was fresh or not, he would never decide what she should do. Only wait and see what the child becomes. It was all a matter of time and care. The man who had gained the title of Mentor not so long ago turned away for a moment and held out a small stack of books for the woman to take away as if reading her mind. Yes, the child would have to learn the ways of world from the mother herself rather than the world's own cold embrace. She recognized these tomes-they had belonged to his son when there was vacancy in Achilles' busy schedule and he would tutor him. These would prove useful. After all, many consequences will follow after prodding a dangerous beast. Ziio began to wonder how soon it would be until her village would be rubble, the people slaughtered, and... This could all plant a seed of darkness in her child; there's no mistaking that. Her "reckless stance" may have shortened her life indefinitely. She narrowed her eyes and looked to her old friend.

"Strengthen the fire, Achilles." she placed her cup down and crouched to level herself with the hearth directly.

"God, woman, take no chances."

"I have to," she focused, "The worst has yet to come and I will not wait. There must be more Watchers other than I."

"Watchers only come _once_ in a lifetime," he argued, "Surely, you understand that."

Ziio had already sat, fully meditated, breathing between chants that were not of her own origin. Her hands quickly reached for a bead from her carefully designed necklace and thrown into the flames that responded with a spat of smoke that soon towered over. With that she inhaled what smoke she was given as her companion groaned in frustration of his own friend's unwillingness to keep her rituals to herself... and not in his sitting room.

This was necessary. If she did this right-the words, the enchantment-she could call the next Watcher centuries over. It was a shot in the dark, but there had to be someone out there that this spell would reach. She would have to link her memories to theirs, her spirit to bring them here, her voice to listen; her chants intensified as the smoke then retreated into the hearth, carrying a message.

The native woman saw it.

There was a girl.

Curling in exhaustion, the woman gave a smile in accomplishment as Achilles went to her side.

"Perhaps it would be wise not to continue this further," he warned.

"There is no need to," she gathered her breath, "I have seen the next Watcher." *huff* "Only there is a problem..."

* * *

 _"Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles. You have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the independence and liberty you possess are the work of joint counsels, and joint efforts of common dangers, sufferings, and successes. … In this sense it is that your union ought to be considered as a main prop of your liberty, and that the love of the one ought to endear to you the preservation of the other."_

 _"While, then, every part of our country thus feels an immediate and particular interest in union, all the parts combined cannot fail to find in the united mass of means and efforts greater strength, greater resource, proportionally greater security from external danger, a less frequent interruption of their peace by foreign nations … Hence, likewise, they will avoid the necessity of those overgrown military establishments which, under any form of government, are inauspicious to liberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly hostile to republican liberty."_

 _"The nation which indulges toward another an habitual hatred or an habitual fondness is in some degree a slave. … As avenues to foreign influence in innumerable ways, such attachments are particularly alarming to the truly enlightened and independent patriot. How many opportunities do they afford to tamper with domestic factions, to practice the arts of seduction, to mislead public opinion, to influence or awe the public councils. Such an attachment of a small or weak towards a great and powerful nation dooms the former to be the satellite of the latter."_

George Washington's farewell address continued for eons, it seems. Of course reading it is vital to the curriculum; it was to be discussed during class, but there were other matters to attend to.

Like sleeping. Or chocolate.

Procrastinating was no longer an option since there was to be an in-class essay about what was addressed in this speech and it was all due after spring break. A long groan filled the room, struggling to stay awake and take in the written text before her. She contemplated taking a nap before carrying on with this endeavor. This proved difficult, though, with her biological clock in a flux. Passing her hand through her hair, an annoyed grunt emitted. Being nocturnal wasn't voluntary; something had always disrupted her sleep. Well, aside from sugar intake and art assignments, anyway.

The textbook was put aside momentarily so that she could stretch more efficiently on the bed. Her grunts were so unladylike as her limbs touched every corner of the large mattress. The height of her was so average, yet her legs could go on for days and the same could be said of her weight.

"Ugh... What time is it?" she finally sat up, taking her cellphone in hand, " _Ah, fuck me_..."

The sun had risen hours ago and flowing in and out of consciousness was starting to set in. The girl gave a disgruntled look before shaking her head in a poor attempt to stay awake. In fact, it was preferred that sleep was avoided for strange dreams took root each time her eyes closed for it; and it was always the same. Every time her dreams would show of a woman gravely injured with flames all around her, threatening to engulf her as burnt, fallen lumber trapped and fatally injured her legs. Regret had filled her eyes as she spoke a language unknown to the girl. Lastly, the flames would strengthen, burning her flesh and burying her under rubble. Someone soon cried out for that woman... it sounded with a great sorrow.

"Tsipporah Martell!" a woman burst into the girl's room. However, the state of it shook the core of her being. It looked as if a storm hit.

Aside from the web of red-pinned checkpoints on her world map across the wall that was illuminated by the string of lights hung in the room, the bed was in disarray in the worst way possible with the pillows looking as if they were the unlucky ones in whatever bar-fight they participated in. The comforter was curled up into a pretzel and set aside against the head of the platform bed while the cover sheet resembled more of a disturbed ocean ripple than something to sleep on. Just about all of the dressers were open as well as the night stands for no apparent reason. The girl's art supplies of paints and dry mediums were strewn about the floor in such a sorry, drunken state as well as the contents of her backpack; a large, unfinished painting covered the wall with detailed outlines overlooked the countless knocked over items.

"Hey..." the young one yawned, "You're late for the party, mom..."

"For God's sake, clean your room! If you're gonna stay up to finish homework, then at least organize where you work."

"Haha... sorry..." she gave a tired cough.

"If you don't get a good night's rest soon, you'll get sick," her mother frowned, "See? Already coughing. I'm getting the robitussin."

"But it doesn't do much, mom."

"Nonsense-it works every time."

"Even on a sprained ankle, mom?" the girl smirked and raised a brow.

"Yes..."

"You're a regular salesman, mom."

" **Don't** get smart with me," she lectured, "Anyway, if you're not sleeping anytime soon, you can help me ready breakfast because I have something to tell you and your brother and sister."

* * *

After some time cleaning her room, Tsipporah went to the bathroom after catching a whiff of her armpits. Once inside, she looked about the unadorned interior, feeling for the light switch and flipping it up. The fluorescent lighting permeated all corners of room, cuing her to disrobe and to turn the shower on. The girl extended her hand to test the water. A smile broke her face when the water eventually reached a tea-brewing temperature. She quickly fetched a body and face wash from the cabinet, and stepped in to bathe. As the scent of fresh blossoms flooded her nose, so did murmurs against her ear. Tsipporah's head jolted; her body freezing in place.

"Mom...?" she spoke loudly.

 _Nothing._

Just the sound of water beating down on her body.

She began to scrub herself vigorously and kept one eye open as she washed parts of her face. Only 80's killers would consider sneaking into the bathroom-where one is most vulnerable-and finishing the job before the victim can cry bloody murder. She kept close to the wall after that as she turned off the shower and got out, but also remembered that her mother would scold her 'til the end of time for not putting the gels away. It didn't take long to contemplate what would be worse between her mother and a slasher. Quickly opening the mirror cabin, she stashed her items away and closed it immediately.

Still nothing, it seemed; not even in the mirror. Perhaps she overreacted.

 _At least that's what she thought before turning to the door._

Her eyes widened and her blood ran cold at the sight. A figure resembling that of a woman faced her with a face bloodied with a struggle to move its jaw. Burns that surpassed the third degree decorated the stranger's body left limbs ruined and gnarled. Whatever clothing she wore now stuck to the bodice, smelted and riddled with holes. Hair of frizzled braids fell over the front of its person and sought to leave her fruitless scalp to rain in thick strands onto the floor. _The smell, though..._  
The smell of scorched flesh easily overwhelmed the girl's senses. She couldn't look away as shock repressed the need to scream. Whatever did this left the figure blackened and well-roasted.

" _Please_..." it rasped, raising a hand; extending it to reach the girl shaking in her place, " _Please_... _Com-Come_... _to me-e_..."

 **"MOM!"** she snapped out of her fearful state and screamed with tears in her eyes.

* * *

Her siblings were put aside in the sitting room down the hall, but scrambled after hearing their sibling cry hysterically as if she was being murdered. Their mother convinced them to stay put to calm the middle child. Tsipporah's mother sat close to her at the breakfast table with bible in hand. Through a trembling voice that stumbled over words several times, she managed to get her entire story out. She hoped her mother believed every word she said of what occurred because she absolutely would for she was deeply spiritual. Any channel of entertainment of horror movies and slasher movies would be banned, talk of ghosts fired her up with a lengthy lecture, and there's also the issue of her daughter rarely going to church due to having more interest in building a portfolio. The girl knew what would follow, telling her mother all of this.

"That's it," she decided, "You're going to church Sunday."

"C-Can we see if the house is haunted at least?" she replied, deadpanned.

"No. You need someone to pray for you. First, you don't want to sleep because of 'homework' and now this-"

Her daughter gave a downtrodden look that said it all. It did not begin with a "ghost" at all. Her dreams lately have been of the disturbing sort with the same scene playing over and over. A woman dying in a fire and buried under wood, and speaking with an affectionate tone to... _someone_.  
Now that the panic in her died down, she realized something: troubled spirits would harass the living because of unfinished business. The girl sobered up the best she could.

"What if it's a ghost that wants something?"

"Like what? Your soul? It'll be interested in that."

"No! I mean..." she passed her tongue over dry lips, "Don't spirits that hang around because they were in the middle of something and they couldn't finish, so now they want someone of the living to finish it for them?"

"These are demons trying to talk to you and you want to speak with them?!"

" _Wha_..." she had enough of this, "Mom, Jesus talked to demons to leave a body, so why not?"

The mother pursed her lips at that comment. That's... _true_... but she would rather argue until she got her point across eventually than let her own daughter win this round. The elder sister and younger brother intervened, seeing that conversation somehow got back to yet another attempt to get Tsipporah to go to church.

"Mom, let's just take a trip; it's spring break." the sister spoke, "The ships to New York are available now, right?"

"Didn't I say to stay in your room?"

"Anywhere but here sounds fine, really," Tsipporah replied, "I'll hibernate up north."

"What did the spirit want Tsippy?" the younger brother eavesdropped, clearly.

"No more talk of demons," the mother sighed roughly, "...Come to church and I'll take you anywhere you want-"

" **Done** ," her middle child perked up and her mother narrowed her eyes at how easy her daughter became when the promise of travel got involved.

* * *

Time had passed promptly since the visit with her old friend, Achilles. Within her, the child grew and soon she birthed him, but the worry of whether he would be accepted or an outsider of her people still remained until the people were completely enamored by him. The more the native woman stared into her babe's sleeping face, the more she saw Haytham's visage. However, his hair, skin, and eyes was something gifted to him as well so he did not appear as a complete stranger. Still, looking at her child's face, Ziio would recall those days where the father of her child was at her side; the very thought bringing a smile on her face. She would not turn back time even if it was an option for she would still chose to be with him, though, it could not be so. Braddock only suffered an injury and did not die. She was used to find her people's most sacred ground then? Ziio did not think twice about demanding Haytham's leave after that.

A few more years passed as she mothered her son to speak both the tongue of their people and that of the British.

 _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ , she named him-"a life that is scratched".

Despite her efforts of tough and patient parenting, her fears remained in her heart that as his father, he, too, would have a dark thirst for power and control. He did not. Not yet, anyway. The urge to have the world controlled rather than allowing others to simply live in peace was the Templar way and yet Haytham-the man that led them had shared his very being with her. Perhaps he had loved her, she believed, but it wasn't enough to deter him from his ultimate goal.

Once a sea of stars filled the sky, Ziio resolved to take her son out to speak with him more privately. The Clan Mother would care for her grandchild no matter what, but he needed to know who his father was, what he does, and why he did not reside with them. She was not blind to his musings when the other children ran up to their fathers. He often looked on, returning to his mother, but the questions still glinted in his eyes. For one so young to not have unspoken questions answered...

She told him as much as she knew.

Of the Templars.

Of their meeting.

 _Everything_ he could comprehend.

"(My father)... (so he's...)" he mumbled as he held his mother's hand as they walked near the walls of the village.

"(You deserved to know about him, my son, that much is known)."

"(So father can never come see you or me, then)?"

Her son understood that his father would probably never see him. He had gotten the answers to questions of his melancholy. The boy perked up, putting his small arms around his mother's waist as his hair fell back looking upwards to his mother.

"(I still have you and grandmother)," he gave a small smile, "(and our people, so I am not alone)."

"(You will never be alone, _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ )."

She looked into his eyes as her hand brushed through the silky texture of hair borne from herself upon his own crown. Those eyes were bright and filled with hope-a love for his family and community. Nothing but pure innocence was there flourished in him. Ziio brought her own arms around, pressing him against her furs. She almost pulled away to speak with him again when he suddenly exclaimed.

"(What is it, Ratonhnhaké:ton)?!" she quickly pulled away to see his face in complete awe. The native woman furrowed her brows and looked about her person, finally seeing what he saw:

"( _The fireflies_ )."

She gave him a light tap against his cheek, "(Do not scare me like that, boy)."

"(But they do not move like that naturally, do they? Could it be the work of spirits)?" he gasped as the lighting bugs continued in their bizarre, fractal patterns.

It was no surprise to Ziio that this was happening for nature itself responds to Watchers. Watchers were considered sacred and holy vessels anointed by Greater Beings to maintain balance, and protect humanity. As far as she knew, it was always the fireflies, the deer, and the bear who felt her blessed spirit, yet even this fluctuates. To know who was a "blessed spirit" or even a Watcher to begin with was a complication. They have more infamous involvements with the Assassins and the Templars than other public matters of the world they live in. A common trait for them was an accumulation of knowledge, wisdom, and the respect for all living things.

Well... _most_ living things.

"(It is a sign of a great blessing)," she kept him in her embrace as they both sat down onto the soft grass, "(Always know this, Ratonhnhaké:ton, for this only happens when a guiding spirit is near. Then you will always know that you are on the right path)."

"(But I will not be lost, mother. You'll always be here, right)?"

"(Yes)," she said resolutely, "(I will always be here with you)."

"(And I, too, will be there if you get lost)." He cuddled into his mother even more. "(I love you, mother)."

Ziio kept her firm embrace and whispered against his hair.

"(I love you, too, my son)."

* * *

The two made their way back into a long-house where a lit fire-pit settled in the middle. Many others either gathered or set their young ones to bed and Ziio's boy was to do the latter much to his dismay. The native woman gave him a knowing look that he couldn't hope to challenge for he had too much respect for her. He cautiously made his way to their sleeping area, stretching his arms over his head and plopped onto the ground. Ziio immediately went to her mother's side.

"(Setting him to bed early)?" Clan Mother asked, setting her staff down, "(I only ask that no one ventures beyond the valley)."

"(There is something I must do)," Ziio said, "(Someone I must call)..."

"(You are not going beyond the valley again are you, my daughter)?" She knew full well what such reckless actions will bring should they continue.

"(It is complicated, mother. You were right before that my actions will endanger our people, but doing nothing will lead to an end we cannot undo. That is why I must call upon someone... beyond our village once more)."

Others that were present left the two women, having too much respect to overhear their conversation and went about their own. The old Clan Mother's expression turned serious at Ziio's words. This woman's idea of defending their beloved people involved more risk that their neutral stance would hastily wane. Their home is the front of a sacred place, yes, but to go forth would bring them more then just a stroke of bad luck. She had tried this once before at Achilles' home, often wondering if the spell had worked as it should. More attempts had filled her days as she birthed and raised a child, and he, too, wondered of why he set to bed early at certain intervals of the week.

"(Exiling you is something I do not wish to do, my daughter)."

"(I am not bringing forth an enemy. I am calling upon a friend)."

"(And who is this 'friend')?"

"(Both of us will have to wait and see)."

* * *

The following morning, just before the sun rose, Ziio saw to it that she meditated in order to guide the next Watcher to where she was. Upon a cliff near the edge of the valley, she sat calmly with eyes closed and hands open in front of her. There were times where this method seemed to have worked when she would receive strange visions of metal towers nearly touching the sky, carriages (?) that moved as fast horses, and works of art strewn about a room. The girl's dreams were filled countless troubles as if she had sensed the end of all things nearing. Other times, the dreams would depict something of a puzzle for her to decode. The native woman smiled to herself of all that she had seen through the one destined to come after her as a Watcher. The child was excitable, which was welcoming. Though she maybe young, there was force within her that will soon be discovered should Ziio play this out right.

Feeling a growing warmth against her skin, the woman's eyes opened to find the sun rising.

" _(I must return)_ ," she thought, " _(Hopefully, my son is behaving himself)_."

Well, he did to some degree upon her return. Once she had gotten back into their longhouse, she found him reading one of her private spell books. He was completely fixated on the symbols written in with the side notes that she had seen that she managed to translate in English. She could not blame him for being curious of a subject looking quite like alchemy. The boy furrowed his brows as he tried to make out what exactly the notes would be used for until he felt his mother's presence behind him. His eyes widened, closing the tome, he quietly dropped it for it to be shoved aside with his foot into the small patch of foliage. He turned to face his parent in hopes that he didn't arouse too much suspicion.

"(Good morning, mother)," he hid his hands behind his back.

"(Hmm)..." she knew he was a terrible liar; it even shows, "And what are you up to)?"

"(Nothing. I, _uh_... I was only)-"One of the other children peeked to the door to call out in invitation to play out into the forest. The native boy was secretly grateful for the interruption. Ziio considered to leave the situation alone since her son did not do much harm; he could not really see the symbols for what they were yet, anyway. She agreed to let him go, but warned to stay within the confines of the valley. He agreed as he scurried off with the other native children. Ziio smirked to herself, seeing that curiousity rather than a dark hunger festering within him. She reached out for the book he had failed to hide and opened it to the page she had dog-eared.

"(Now, my friend, allow me to reach you once more)," she sat down to meditate, extending her spirit to the girl beyond.

* * *

 **More chapters to come, everyone! :D**


	3. Chapter 2: Chiminage

_"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant."_

 _ **Socrates**_

* * *

What was once a peaceful village that rested upon sacred ground, a place of trade, a place of a free people-all of it was in flames now. Its people ventured back and forth to save one another the best they could; to shield their children from the fires that soon swallowed their livelihood and harvest. Some of the others went out into the forest to keep away from possible smoke inhalation as soon as the injured, the sick, and the elderly were in the clear. The others... Ziio kept a stoic stature as she hurried for every able person she could save. Upon saving her mother, she kept her away from the inferno the best she could.

"(Mother)," she coughed, "(Have you seen Ratonhnhaké:ton)?"

"(He was still out in the forest-)"

"(No...)"

He could still be alive since those that had preyed on their village were more concerned about the braves destroying them. She raised him be more rational of the dangers of the forest and he has yet to fall to nature itself. The native woman had to see to that the living were cared for, though. Once Clan Mother made it to the edge of the village, Ziio sprinted back into the village in relay to recover belongings that belonged to the Brotherhood. Achilles had given her those books-tomes with information of the Watchers. She made sure that no survivor was overlooked before going through the deadly fires of the longhouse. This had to be done quickly for the structure would not hold for much longer. There may not be time to save all the books, but those tomes must be saved since there were no other copy. Ziio side-stepped to dodge some debris before reaching the her prized items, lightly coughing from the smoke surrounding her. It had almost become all too easy if not for the supporting wood collapsing so suddenly.

Everything had escaped her grasp as soon as the first torched lumber fell, easily wrenching a sickening "pop" from her left shoulder, knocking her back. Others followed after the first left her clutching a third-degree burn. Thick, burning wood toppled themselves on her legs hastily before she could think to crawl away helplessly. She let out a short cry as she felt the wind gusting out of her body as well as a spray of red before her eyes. The books fell from her reach, instantly embraced by the fires and soon she, too, would be consumed by them. The native woman gasped for the polluted air as the warm, coppery taste overwhelmed her mouth. Her vision had already begun to blur from the onslaught of pain once she settled against the burning wall behind her. The heat became more unbearable.

 _Am I to die here?_

 _Now...?_

 **No.**

Ziio slouched over to the books that were nearly taken completely by the flames and took a handful of pages. Not caring for the burns she received, the ink was somewhat visible enough to read. It was desperate, but it needed to be done. The girl she saw so many times in her visions needed to be here. There was so much to be done; so much to protect. It was a large burden to place upon a child, but the girl had promise she was not aware of yet. Smoke began to rise from the notes that would become ash, yet the woman persisted in the chant.

 _"Please... come... Please... c-come..."_

The words turned frail and a coughing fit shot forth from her injured chest. Profanity slipped from her lips as she threw the book aside as it was now ash and dust; so, too, was her fate in the next few moments. Strange, though, she mused of how heroic her death would be. Dying as a warrior with no regrets, yet here she was, scrambling in desperation. What was left of her people are now safe outside watching the destruction. Her mother probably still thought of her as a foolish daughter who brought this chain of misfortune to the village and its people. She could never come to Achilles' aid when he would need it in the near future. She would never have a chance to see Haytham again if she was ever able.

And her son...

Ziio's eyes glazed over in sorrow, thinking of whether or not Ratonhnhaké:ton was out there in the forest safe from harm. He was a smart boy; one would assume he'd be far from the danger here. Her bloodied hand clutched her intricate necklace as if the girl in a distant time would hear her plea to be there for him since she could not. Not anymore, it seems. She would not even be able to say goodbye to him. Perhaps it was for the best that he would not see her this way-crippled by the scorching hot lumber that braced her to the ground. He should remember her as the stern, strong warrior she was that solely devoted herself to her culture, her people, and her family. Ziio closed her eyes and exhaled with that contentment that she did all she could. Her boy would grow strong even without her.

 **"(MOTHER)!"**

 _What...?_

 _ **"(MOTHER)!"**_

 _That voice..._

The wall adjacent to her rattled from the banging on the other side. A small hand tried to make its way out of the hole it created from the initial collapse with a peeking eye following suit. The native woman coughed, clearing her throat enough that she would speak. It was him. Her son had made it back to the village in search of her, only to find her half-buried under debris and the fiery inferno eating at her flesh. Ratonhnhaké:ton's voice was filled with urgency and despair, promising his mother that he would save her. Circling around the ruins, he made it inside the partially destroyed longhouse and to his mother. He hastily lifted the burning lumber, not caring for the injuries his hands were receiving. Residue of sparks flickered from the debris in a spray that caught on to his little arms. The boy hissed at the small burns they were sure to leave, but stubbornly tried to shift the weight of the lumber that held his mother in such a critical state. His little palms were going to char to nothing if he kept at it. There was little time. Ziio felt the structure she leaned against begin to snap. Her son couldn't be dragged with her. She couldn't let that come to pass.

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton)..." she gasped, making every last breath count, "(You have to go... it's too late)..."

"(No, I can save you)!" he pleaded as he tried to pull the hot lumber still.

The native woman leaned forward with a grunt to clasp her son's hands, intervening with the hopeless rescue. Gasping heavily, she took one hand to undo the necklace she wore and opened his hand, slipping the necklace into his ruined palm. She clasped both hands around his to push him away from the hazardous debris she suffered. The boy felt his body run cold as he watched his mother perform this act. This necklace meant so much to her; to her beliefs. She was ready to part with it? Now? His heart was caught in his throat. He hadn't the strength to even remove the fallen structure for his mother to escape. She was going to die here- **No.** He can't accept it. He _won't_ accept it. Yet, there she was, speaking to him for them to part... _forever_.

"(You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton... You must be brave)..."

"(Stop it! Stop it)..." he can't believe this was happening.

"(You will think yourself alone, but know that I will be by your side)," everything was starting to fade, "(Always and forever)..."

She knew it to be the truth. She sent for someone to watch over him-for him to be alright-to watch him in her stead. She did not know when she would arrive to his side, but it would be soon and the time would be right. Before she urged him to leave once more, one of the elderly tucked through the fire, taking the boy away much to her son's dismay. He yelled and screamed that he would save his mother, but that time has long passed. Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't look away as the flames took her into it's cruel, unforgiving arms. The native woman raised her voice enough for him to hear that she was proud of him, that she treasured their time together, that he would never be truly alone even after this...

 _"Konnorónhkwa."_

* * *

An onslaught of memories kept at Tsipporah's mind. It struck her as something seen in an X-Men movie. Through telepathy, she was receiving a large flow of events to decipher as if the user was trying to tell her something. She closed her eyes to pinpoint moments, faces, places, people, objects-anything incriminating in her findings. This enigmatic pattern of images were taking over the contents of her sketchbook as she could finally identify that it is in fact a native woman sending her fragments of her memories. There was a village behind a wall in a forest (as far as she could tell), First Nation people, and the woman in question was buried under burning rubble and the entire structure collapsed on her person soon after. Someone else was there with her though, in her time of crisis. It was a small boy who tried to get her out. The woman obviously saw how useless it was and probably urged him to leave, but not without parting with a special keepsake. He kept screaming and she said something, but with deep affection behind it. Unfortunately, the language was lost on Tsipporah; the gestures were there, though. The woman also had a book, too, long before the boy came and wondered if it had any importance.

The girl began to make notes and quick sketches for any detail she could recall. It was clear that she would have to look up certain symbols that belonged to a specific indigenous group. It was nothing she recognized from her Social Studies textbook at all. Maybe it was time for it to be updated. She couldn't reach for other things that may help her. She had already packed her laptop, flash-drives, CD-player with headphones, CD wallet with CD's, clothes, shoes, books, toiletries, art supplies, first aid kit, novels, sketchbook... She was ready to go on any trip with _one_ backpack, really; and it's only her carry-on! Her guitar-she would prefer to carry herself since those in charge of handling shipments and luggage aren't very gentle with these works of art, she's learned (the hard way). The girl rubbed her temples and got off her bed to play some Green Day. The silence was deafening. The whole family planned to leave for New York early in the morning, so why not pack earl-

"Time for a nap," Tsipporah put her sketchbook and dry mediums aside, plopping her head on her pillow. Well, until an unwelcome voice startled her. It was as if a chirping monkey was getting ran over repeatedly or someone was _trying_ to laugh at a bad joke. She reluctantly rolled from her rest to get to the living room to happily greet an eternally uninvited guest.

"Tsipporah-Jean, guess who's here? It's Myrtle." her mother smiled ear to ear as another woman stood next to her, much to the girl's dismay.

"Oh, it's you," she shrugged, "If you're looking for my dad, he's still doing a gig at a cathedral downtown."

" _Tsipporah-Jean Martell_!"

"What?" she turned to the other woman, "Did you actually come by to say 'hi' to us? I wasn't born yesterday."

Her mother and Myrtle suddenly turned sour at the girl's words. The two had always gotten along and her other siblings didn't mind the woman's presence at the house whenever she decided to drop by, but Tsipporah felt a twist in her gut every time _that woman_ came by. She clearly wasn't someone to be trusted at all. _Period_. There was no physical proof yet either; just a creeping feeling that she was trouble to be taken care of or just banished forever. The mother made a move to grab her daughter by the arm.

"Apologize! **Now**."

"...Sorry." it sounded more snarky than it did sincere as if she wanted to add a joke after the fact. Her mother scoffed and sent her back to her room, but not without her adding more. "What time do we go tomorrow, mom? I wanna good pictures of the lodge we're going to-"

"Go to your room."

"Ok, fine," she'd rather pretend the " _fish-faced-whore_ " wasn't there, anyway. She obeyed in retreating to her room to blast more rock music and bury herself in her current research. It would have been better to complete her homework-her reading for the week-but trying to figure out what this "ghost" wanted was just something beyond imperative. She dug through her piles of books of almanacs, world history, historical conspiracies, memoirs, adventure novels-

"Aha!"

She pulled out a seven-inch textbook that contained details of all the world's indigenous tribes. Most chapters contained the typical synopsis of respective cultures, branches, hierarchies, architectural structures, and the like. Her dreams were mostly a blur, but even when the village she saw in her dreams were up in flames, she had to guess they were longhouses.

"Longhouses," she mumbled, "The Iroquois Confederation, then."

It was hard to admit, but if a native woman was indeed contacting her with disturbing images, then one had to wonder if this was a cursed Native-American burial ground case she was dealing with because they never do end well. Perhaps the sooner she figures out what was happening, the better. Her eyes and finger continued to trail the page for anything that matched up to her dreams. Funny, she had only known a little about the Mohawk when the subject was introduced in elementary school. Such a poor representation that was shown in her school textbook that she was glad her mother bought this one from a historical society, knowing her daughter would find great use for it. The more she skimmed, the more she was able to uncover. The woman's necklace she saw was a rather unique object. It turns out that it may have a strong connection to the Turtle Clan-a people who have turtles near their village and with observing these creatures, they learned to be patient with life and to be steady. At least, she can now readily identify with the "what", "when", and "where". The "who", "how", and "why" was still out.

 _ **Who** is this woman?_

 _ **How** is she sending these messages/memories?_

 _ **Why** is she even sending these messages/memories?_

A knock on the door pulled Tsipporah away from her thoughts. She groaned, hoping it wasn't that woman. Honestly, just looking at her made her want to cave her face in with her bare fist. After mustering something close to courage and hate, she opened the door to find her younger brother looking in. A chuckle escaped her lips.

"You okay, man? You finished packing?" she began.

"Y-Y-yeah," he replied, "Y-Y-You know Myrtle brought s-s-some food-food, r-right?"

"Ugh..."

"S-s-sorry! Is it m-me again?" he was always self-conscious of his stammering problem that seemed impossible to fix, but his older sister never minded it. He was still intelligent. He was still a human being.

"No, man," she let him into her room to sit on the bed, "I just have a bad feeling about her. She's so fishy... and so hard to look at..."

Her brother snorted. And nearly stubbed his toe against the piles of books collecting on the floor.

"Um... did y-you ever f-f-find out about that g-ghost lady?"

"Definitely native-american-Mohawk, and must be a centuries old ghost because the village she came from was full of longhouses in a huge forest. Mohawk Valley obviously. She's also connected to the turtle clan since she wore a medallion with a symbol pertaining to them. There's also some kid she keeps showing me."

She flipped open her sketchbook to show him. The detail was remarkable; as if the people and places were there in front of her. The natives depicted from her dreams were a handsome people with striking features, yet their lives seemed so simple.

"D-Did you g-g-get names, at l-least?"

"Language's like Chinese to me, I'm afraid, so no."

"Do y-y-you need help?"

"Not at the moment-" she paused, "Actually, I should see what point in time this all took place because it's clear that the village was most likely destroyed..."

"W-W-Were there survivors?"

"It's from the woman's perspective so it's hard to tell..."

It was a chin-scratching mystery at this point. Perhaps this trip to New York was really needed to get the remaining answers. She'll have to venture to the Mohawk Valley area specifically to see if she can trigger something. Tsipporah didn't want to think about the visage of the charred corpse appearing before her again, but it was unfortunately necessary. Guess a vacation was what she really needed. Though, she mused of all the possible _wrong_ that could happen. The ghost lady might attack her, she could be cursed going to a cursed burial ground, her mom could be right about it being a demon that wants her soul. _Ha ha_... yay, adventure.

 _Yay..._

* * *

When the early morning came, the Martells left for the MIA-airport only for the father to say he had a last minute gig at a luxury hotel and stayed behind. Tsipporah rolled her eyes, knowing full well what he was really staying behind for. It mattered little as nothing was going to stop her from having a good time; except for the lines at the airport and the crying toddlers at the gate at 6:30 a.m. There was still time before the plane officially arrived, so that time was spent eating breakfast and huddling together since the air conditioner turned the gate into a freezer. Tsipporah continued her relentless filling of her sketchbook. She was thankful the pages were endless, but felt like a schizophrenic at this point. Not once did she feel any fatigue last night. She shrugged her shoulders, thinking that during the flight she'll just fall asleep instantly since the flight would be for a few hours, anyway. When she got to her sixth page half done, the announcement for boarding was made. She bit her lip, scrambling to put her stuff away, and stood up with her siblings and mother.

Once they boarded, she made sure her guitar and carry-on backpack was with her at all times. Most of her travel essentials were in there. Anything for an emergency was packed in there, really. Her mother told her something, but it easily became a blur of words. Maybe the bizarre insomnia was finally wearing off. She yawned as she reached her designated seat. She could have immediately slept if not for someone tapping her shoulder. Everyone sat down already, so she guessed it to be stewardess wanting to urge her to put her stuff away and sit immediately before they take off. Tsipporah turned around and gasped at the face looking back at her.

" _It is time now, my friend_."

The native woman simply said before bringing an open palm near the girl's face, blowing the most unusual substance at her face that inevitably reached her nostrils. Tsipporah nearly choked, threw a small coughing fit, and felt more lethargic than she should. She spun around to see if she could see her mother or even her siblings, but it only became darker and darker. The only thing she heard before unconsciously finding her seat was the plane preparing to take off.

* * *

It has been nine years since the destruction of their village. The Mohawk could not mourn for so long, though, as life went on. However, few couldn't put behind what was done them and fewer couldn't put behind who was truly to blame. The longhouses were long rebuilt and they had gotten their life back together again, only now more unwelcome settlers had come into the valley and built an entire town close to them. A little too close for their liking. It didn't sit well with the people at all, but they were sworn to never leave the valley no matter the impending danger they may put themselves in. Fighting wasn't an option for sparking any conflict may repeated what happened nearly a decade ago. The issue never sat well with the Clan Mother's grandson, however.

The sun was due to rise and the stars were still out and so was his mind. Everyone else had slept soundly in the night with their families close by inside. Except for one that wandered outside and couldn't venture into the forest. The boy clenched his jaw, unfortunately, still full of energy. His day before was filled with nothing but hunting, climbing, gathering; and questions about possible outsiders returning to the village to endanger them once more. He knew they were still out there; the men who assaulted him that day and attacked the village, ultimately killing some members of the village, including his mother, and severely injuring most. He was only four then. He even made sure that he could defend himself and others once the mourning ended. His days in childhood were no longer spent playing hide and seek, and frolicking in the forest. They were quickly flooded with days of training to be a warrior. Some of his friends understood as well as a frequent visitor from another tribe, but others wanted their lives to be kept simple. Simple was no longer an option...

"( _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ )!" a voice startled the boy to his feet. He relaxed after seeing who it was.

"(Kanen'tó:kon, what are you doing out here so late? Go back to bed)." He didn't mind the company, but he was hoping the boredom of solitude was going to drive him to sleep eventually.

"(Well, I have been thinking about... well)..."

"(Yes, my friend)?"

"(Could I help you gather and hunt in the woods tomorrow afternoon)?"

"(What...)?" he cracked a smile. He honestly thought his friend was disinterested in such things. Clan Mother had asked him to gather things for the village before, but Kanen'tó:kon was always short on his end of the bounty, so he gave up after that. Ratonhnhaké:ton had always encouraged him to try again even though he never let up on the fat jokes and promised not to make another one ever again... for that one day. "(You want to help me gather)?"

"(I'm serious)," he thought on his words for a moment, "(It may not be any different from the last few times, but I think I should still try. Besides, the others did not start as early as you did, but still had luck, anyway)."

"(It is not luck, Kanen'tó:kon. The others merely all tried and failed, but soon managed)." The boy thought for a moment, "(Perhaps I can teach you. Follow my footsteps and I will make a hunter out of you yet)." he patted his friend's pudgy stomach jokingly and the other native replied with rolling eyes. Of course he wasn't going to let that go. It never diminished their friendship, though, for he was always good company. There was never a time where he turned down anyone in need of aid. He had always treated others fairly; colonists were never outside of this either. There was always an opposite and equal reaction. It was only when he was evidently threatened to point of blood getting spilled that he'd raise his stone tomahawk against someone.

"(Alright)," his companion started heading back, "(Are you going to sleep soon? It would be bad for us to be wandering the forest without sleep)."

"(I will follow you in a moment. I will be waiting outside the village tomorrow afternoon)."

As he friend hurried back to bed, the boy pondered about what was to come tomorrow. He wasn't going to hunt alone. That should be good, right? He couldn't shake the feeling that something was bound to happen. He hoped it was something exciting.

* * *

There was nothing but white filling the space along with unfamiliar markings (runes?) rising up to the air as if the matrix was gathering data. It didn't sit right. A massive amount of information was transferring back and forth, that much was known. Every little step created a wavelength of words, memories that soon turned into these markings and rise to the air. They turned colorless afterwards. She could say that the backgrounds were geometrically designed, having hues of light blue overlapping. There was more of an interest of what this dream served now. It looked like a hub of some sort. It was as if her mind had reached the furthest part of her system to show her how memories were stored instead of giving convoluted dreams that bordered surrealism. Or puzzling, prophetic ones that she's experienced for a while. As far as the girl was concerned, no one else was here, but her.

"You have arrived to me at last."

 _Oh for fu-_

"You!" Tsipporah leaped back.

"You have nothing to fear. I have no desire to harm you."

"Says the one spraying some mess o' voodoo in my face..." she grumbled at the last memory she had. "Who are you, anyway? Why are sending me these 'memories'?"

"There is no time," the native woman said quickly, "You must listen. The tomes I have meant to have saved for you were destroyed."

"In the village fire, right?"

"Yes. It is important that you must learn the contents to better understand your mission."

"What mission?" this only brought more questions than answers, unfortunately.

"Protecting a sacred place that my people and I are sworn to defend by any means. You must speak to Oiá:ner to see it for yourself."

" _Oiá:ner_?" the word probably meant someone important... "Lady, if this mission is so important and you have little time, the least you could do is give straightforward instructions. Help me out here."

"All in due time, _little one_ ," her gaze hardened, causing the girl to look away. She was a mother, alright, and would not put up with a child's attitude. "You will find what you need in Mohawk Valley. There is something you must do; someone you must find. You will know once you are there.

 _Now... **wake-up**!"_

* * *

Tsipporah's eyes shot open to green trees overhead and an open blue sky. A groan escaped her lips as she felt the ground beneath her was soft. Shifting her weight to her elbows, she saw that all around her was a flourishing forest of tall trees of elm, birch, and some fir as far as she could tell. She looked down on her person as she sat up. No visible injuries. Nothing but waves of tall grass and piles of forest debris from miles around. Not to mention the constant frolicking of animals. Birds were chirping, animals were grazing, and Tsipporah tried to think of not hyperventilating on how she ended up in a lush forest when she was clearly on a plane before take-off.

It brought her to her next set of questions: _where were her belongings_?

A rattling noise sounded off close by. She immediately got to her feet, wondering if there was someone else here. Low and behold, it was her backpack and guitar. How those made the journey, too, was beyond her. What's more was that a deer was sniffing and pulling at the top zipper where her snacks were. It was just a deer. Quietly, it sniffed about her belongings curiously. It was bound to run off if she spooked it enough, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was probably just hungry and wanted easy access. The scare-tactic was abandoned and decided to slowly approach. It didn't take much time for the young deer to notice her after that. Although, it approached her instead of dashing away. It ducked its head as it came closer to the girl. There was some caution there, but was soon emboldened to get closer.

Never did she thought to get so cautious of a young deer. They normally run away at the sight of humans or anything bigger and foreign to them to her knowledge. She debated whether or not this was truly a deer to begin with considering its behavior.

"Um..." she stood still, "Are you hungry?" For human flesh? She hoped not.

She side-stepped to her backpack, unzipped the top section, and pulled out the chopped strawberries and grapes held in a plastic bag. Scooping a handful, she extended the invitation for a free feast. The deer responded with a tilted head, flicking its ear. Tsipporah kept still, knowing it was going to give in at some point and it did. It inched closer until it nuzzled its nose into her open palm, licking up the bits of fruit. She pursed her lips at the tickling feeling. Fighting the urge to burst out laughing proved difficult. This gave her a opportunity to pull out her... phone. She breathed in relief that she still had it, though it was futile, seeing as there was no connection. There was still an opportunity to take pictures and videos, though. The more it ate, the cuter it got. The girl took in its little features here and there. It had a white tail, beautifully placed freckles and spots on its sides, and even little ones on its face. It was perfect replication of Bambi, but lighter in the brown to white gradient of the fur.

"I think I should call you... _Sara_ ," she hummed. Her belongings were here, she was here in one piece, but what is _here_?

That native woman mentioned Mohawk Valley. Either she was close or just shy of it. Whatever the case, she dispatched to some strange land because this forest seemed to clean; untouched by modern industry. At least if it was a reserve, she would smell some hint fossil fuel somehow-like a jeep or highlander. That wasn't the case, no. The air was so rich. _Too rich_.

Nevertheless, she had to find the village, speak to "Oiá:ner", and speak more on this sacred property they were protecting. The more the girl repeated it in her head, the more it sounded like a magical adventure. Well, she hoped it was one. Normally, at the end she meets back in her own realm with her family and friends. Well, if she had any friends to speak of. Her mind went back and forth on what she should do now. She only had survival tactics from what she'd done in RPGs on a game console. It was only rational to find someone to talk to in order to get information. If not people, then signs of recent activity. This was a healthy forest as far as she could tell, with many animals around every corner. They were obviously part of some community's resource.

Tsipporah was so lost in thought that she didn't take much notice in Sara taking off to go further into the forest. Once the tickling feeling went away and the gentle took its place, she brought her hand back to her person and looked around. She didn't panic right away as the forest was fairly peaceful, so the fawn may have just lost interest altogether. The girl pouted as she wanted to spend more time with a piece of nature, but there was somewhere to head off to. Her eyes narrowed, seeing if there was any sign of a forest clearing. Well, there was no way of knowing if she didn't start walking, so she pulled up her backpack and guitar to start. There had to be a water source that would inevitably lead to some sort of settlement. Following the deer was no good; it would do well to avoid humans. Maybe signs of hunting game would be of some use.

The girl's wish was granted to be given some kind of sign when she nearly stepped into the scavenged body of a small animal. From the looks of it, it was lured in by bait and got caught in a snare-a very _primitive_ snare at that. It wasn't even metal; just all wood and rope. And there were others in the area, the further she went. The kills gradually became fresh. Her stomach twisted at the sight. She was fond of meat, but the sight of animals freshly stripped of flesh was a bit jarring in a way. Though, it also meant that someone was out here. Someone she could talk to, she hoped. She walked a bit more, cursing at how she wasn't properly dressed for a hike like this. She put her backpack down for moment to wipe her brow.

"Damn nice weather," she rolled her shoulders, "Why did I decide to wear black? Oh... pfft, what am I saying? My whole closet's black."

Then there it was. A Sickening "pop" noise echoed from the side of her. There was a desperate yelp along with it. It was definitely an animal cry. Wherever it happened, it was close. _Too_ close. Seeing that she was out in the open, Tsipporah went behind a tree, hiding as much as she could. Voices went back and forth soon after-two voices, it sounds. There was someone hunting. The girl peeked to see who and easily recognized the hunted animal, but didn't bother to look beyond the body.

" _Sara_!" she gasped and covered her mouth in regret. No doubt that alerted the hunters.

That was stupid.

Her palms began to sweat as she stood stock still against the tree. The silence after only made it all the more daunting. The hunters couldn't have run off, could they? Not with rabbits still snares not far from here. She looked over the slightest and was met with the sight of one skinning the young deer with great precision and taking its meat. The girl almost fainted from the sight. She could see he was native, though, from where she stood, but didn't dare to get closer. If she made any more movement or noise, she would make him apprehensive; so apprehensive that he'll instinctively prepare himself to fight. He'll have to get engrossed in his work before she could step away. The native boy was just about too focused on getting all of the deer hide without ruining it. Tsipporah took his averted attention as a sign to go the other way. However, a part of her strap found its way on the broken branch she leaned on, pulling her back aggressively. The action made her yelp too loud for her liking. And _too_ suspicious for the boy's liking.

He stood up with a hand on his stone tomahawk at his side, keeping his kill within his sight. The girl didn't like the sudden silence that took root once more. She could practically feel the tension as goosebumps rose on her skin. He definitely knew she was hiding now. The logical choice in the matter was to leave her backpack and guitar, so that she at least had a better chance at running away. Running would be the only option. No way she'd fight him. Sara's body had no sign of struggle or suffering and the deer's head limped at an unnatural angle. That boy snapped its neck in one go. She had to think fast. There were too many essentials to give up and she had no idea where she was or who was out there making her skin crawl. Almost as if she were being hunted next.

"Fuck it-" she almost dropped her bag to run, but a stone-headed weapon at her throat fazed her from doing so. It came out with a swiping motion, making her believe that it would be the last thing she'd see, but it was clearly a warning swing.

 _ **"Come out."**_

His voice was bold and demanding. She had no choice in the matter, so she complied, keeping her eyes low and her hands up as she walked into his view. Tsipporah was in too much of panic to take note of how articulate he sounded in speaking English. Actually, she wanted nothing more to cry, but he didn't have to know that. Her attire and stature was lost him, though. The majority of her attire was some shade of black with her top having a large, abstract skull print on the front, her slacks had some faded lace pattern on them, and her shoes shined as any colonist's blade would. Aside from her dark complexion and thick physique, he was taken aback, but intrigued. His guard couldn't be lowered, though. He had to know why she was just standing about in the woods watching him.

"Who are you? What are you doing out here?" he kept a firm voice.

"Ts... Tsipporah Martell..." she shook out of nervousness, "A n-native woman brought me here."

"What native woman?" he pressed for more answers.

"Look," she laughed nervously, "All I know is t-that she's Mohawk and she asso-associated with the Turtle Clan, okay?!"

By the looks of it, the girl didn't come to hunt. She wasn't really dressed for it at all. She didn't have any weapons visible, either, but she also didn't look like much of a fighter. The boy could see how much she was shaking with her eyes downcast.

"Look at me," he spoke more softly, the tomahawk meeting back to his side, but he didn't take his eyes off of her, "I will not harm you-"

"Sure as hell looked like you were, though..." she wrapped her arms in defense, "I thought you were gonna bash my neck like you did Sara."

" _Sara_?" he lifted a brow and the girl jerked her head to the deer's far-from-lifeless body. "Ah," now it was his turn to look apologetic, "I am sorry. I am gathering hides and the meat is rich."

"Well, Sara didn't suffer and you were still chopping her to bits, so... continue." Why not? The exposed muscle would rot if left alone too long. It'd be a waste now, but the girl didn't want to stick around and watch. "I'll just be walking away."

"Are you not lost?"

"I am. I just don't want to watch you dissect Sara as all..."

She really loved animals as far as he could tell. With her back turned, all she could hear was the squelching sounds of flesh leaving bone and mumbled how nasty it must look right now. The girl bounced in her spot until she realized she must have been rude to begin with. Once the fear melted, a twinge of guilt rose in its place. She stared at him for some time, making him nervous because someone was trespassing on the grounds his people must be hunting on. Now that things have calmed down, she didn't bother to ask for his name.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked for your name," she turned to face him out of politeness.

"I am Ratonhnhaké:ton," he lifted his eyes to her and spoke briskly. He finally finished gathering the hide and deer meat.

Tsipporah was at a loss. And here she thought her name was a complication all on its own.

"Um... wow. No lie, dude, but that is a strange name."

"You have a strange name, too: 'SAH-frah MAHR-tell'." He gave a smirk and the girl thought she could die in that moment, but there were things to tend to.

"Um... huh," she cleared her throat, "Well, I was told to come to a Mohawk village to speak to Oiá:ner about... something important." She prayed that she pronounced that right. The boy furrowed his brows at that.

"What business do you have with the Clan Mother?" Her brows lifted. Of course it was some kind of leader. She should get a dictionary.

"So you come from the village she leads? Great! You can take me to her." She perked up only for him to give an impatient look.

"No. Outsiders cannot just walk freely into the village. I will take you to the village _after_ I have finished hunting." She seemed harmless, but he couldn't take too many chances. He would have to watch her until he and his companion finished gathering their bounty. The girl gave a small protest, but had nothing to argue further since she had no where else to go. She would have to willingly shadow his steps and wait for the hunt to be over. At the very least, she wasn't annoyed or bored by the rather violent activity. His execution of the kills were nothing short of astounding. He crouched over the animal tracks, taking a piece of earth and examined the clues of recent activity. For the most part, he was accurate in his findings and made quick work of his targets. The groundwork seemed too easy for him, so he took to the trees. The girl thought him insane, but chose to watch since climbing was his forte, evidently. She wanted to ask how he was doing that-climbing trees like he learned to scale heights before even learned to crawl-but knew to save the questions for later.

Once the height was good enough for him, he had his sights set on the two foxes gathering around some stray berries. Perfect.

Tsipporah wrinkled her nose, wondering if he was going to shoot the red-tailed creatures from there because jumping from thirty feet was out of the ques-

He immediately pounced on the two foxes, both animals instantly dying from the impact on their napes. The girl's heart sank on how he accomplished that with just his bare hands and got up like it was nothing. Her jaw dropped and her hand held at her chest trying to find the explanation behind this sorcery. When Ratonhnhaké:ton caught a glimpse of her expression, he cracked a smile and went back to gathering furs and meat. The girl went on to muse of how that " _shit-eating-grin_ " was going to be the end of her.

After wiping his brow, the boy examined how much he had gathered that afternoon.

"There was another that came with me. Did you happen to see him?"

"I heard two voices, but no."

"He should be done with his share by now..."

"Where did _he_ take off to? He couldn't gone far, right?"

No one was allowed to go beyond the valley, the boy was too eager to bend the rules this day. Clan Mother had already seen much of his mother in him when he asked many questions of why he or his people were sworn to stay on this land and act as a neutral party no matter the cost. He couldn't help it. Now he was starting to wonder if his friend had gotten too inspired by his boldness that he decided to venture further off. The native hunter slowed his stride to listen for footsteps aside from his and the girl's. He gestured for her to stay close, not that she had to be told twice. There were finally other human footsteps in the dirt once they reached an area of trees gravitating towards a a grey, rocky cave near a creek. Ratonhnhaké:ton made way to continue as the tracks made their way along the creek, but the girl became distracted by a shrill noise.

"You hear that?" in case she hadn't gone mad yet. The boy stood next to her and listened.

It was definitely crying.

And definitely desperate.

* * *

 **More next week! Thanks for following! :D**


	4. Chapter 3: Destiny

_"Concern should drive us into action and not into a depression. No man is free who cannot control himself.  
_

 ** _Pythagoras_**

* * *

Whatever or whomever was crying out, sounded desperate and vulnerable. It came from deep within the cave on the other side of the creek. It couldn't have been this Kanen'tó:kon native that this boy was looking for, but whoever the cries belonged to sounded in trouble. Tsipporah stepped carefully towards the log that acted as a bridge leading to the cave. Part of the log was a bit submerged, but she shrugged it off, thinking she could make it. The boy had to give her credit for attempting to balance herself, despite the occasional slips she had with the running water splashing against her feet. And with the heavy equipment she had to boot. She clearly needed assistance, but didn't call for it not once. Once she got close, she jumped sloppily to the other side, hopping a bit to get to her feet. A nervous laughter left her mouth. She looked back at the able-bodied hunter gazing in bemusement. The look on his face inspired her to want to toss a stone at it.

"Are you coming or what? Sounds like someone's in trouble back here!"

Just as Ratonhnhaké:ton was already on his way to her, a small furry creature beat him to it. The very sight of him caused cooing to emit from the girl. It was a small bear with dark brown fur and a brown muzzle. Upon closer inspection, its shoulder had a terrible scratch as well as the cub's paw-pads. When Tsipporah crouched to the creature's level, two more had approached her person. She was having a field day on how adorable they were, but they, too, were hurt. It begged the question of what or who did this to them. Shaking her head, she put her backpack down and pushed items to the side to reach one desirable. Her face lit up as soon as she pulled out a first-aid kit.

"Don't worry little ones," she opened the package, "I'll make sure those wounds heal properly."

"There are no other human tracks. An animal must have done this to them." The native hunter looking about the frame of the cave found signs of struggle with claw marks on the wall. There was one set that was larger in contrast to the rest. A cougar may have come in to harm the cubs and its mother defended them, but the cougar was determined. The mother easily overpowered it and pursued it to make sure it was far from their cave. However, the cubs didn't escape the brawl without receiving injuries. There were bits of blood leading out to the forest. The larger bear couldn't have been far. Ratonhnhaké:ton turned back to the girl.

"It is not wise to overstay our welcome," he stated, "Their mother will return and she will be less than pleased to see trespassers in the presence of her cubs."

"Oh..." Tsipporah cleaned the last wound on the final cub and sprayed it with disinfectant. The cub winced, but it was for its own good. She kissed their heads and scratched behind their unscathed ears before putting her package away. "How much time do we have?"

"One minute; maybe less."

He wasn't taking any chances while he had a civilian in tow and his friend was still out there. He had his bounty with him as well as the gathered eagle feathers, but where was Kanen'tó:kon? The two made it back across the creek in time to see the other native boy running for his life. The native hunter had never seen him run so fast before. He didn't stop either. Even as he accidentally brushed roughly into his friend's shoulder, he kept running. Ratonhnhaké:ton swore in his native tongue and rolled his shoulder back, hearing another noise echo through the woods.

A bear roar.

The girl's blood ran cold as her head snapped up to see a less-than-thrilled large shadow overwhelm the two of them. Her first instinct was to hide, but the bear ignored her presence, going straight for the native. Kanen'tó:kon didn't get too far and the bear was ready to charge again. What possessed the girl to do something so stupid was beyond her. She took a heavy mound of dirt into her hand, curled it into a shapely ball, and hurled it at the bear's face. It spared no expense getting even more pissed about the interruption. The girl whimpered at the sudden lunge it gave in her direction; such a large animal gained great momentum in short amount of time. Without a second thought, she swung her backpack to throw off the oncoming claws meant to skewer her face. The massive bear slammed her into the ground with little effort. Tsipporah shut her eyes tightly as the pain began to set in and curled her knees into herself, but it only intensified whatever bruising she had on her back.

The bear heaved, ready to attack again. Having no strength to stand, the girl tried her luck with her backpack to see if it could take another blow. Unlikely. Her arms felt like jello after the graceful landing she made. _This was it_. Nature was going to have its way before her adventure truly began. The bear roared again in anger, but it turned to... _wailing_? What's more was that no crushing weight took her last breath from her. The girl looked through her lashes to see the native hunter standing over her form, ricocheting the bear's attempts to kill her. It was hard to look away. He rooted himself to the spot with just a hunting knife and a stone tomahawk.

 _What the hell was he thinking?!_ She wanted to scold him. Whatever brave act he wanted to commit-now was not the time for it.

The bear was just about peeved with the trespassers it had. It stood over to swing its paw down, hoping to end the boy right then and there.

 _Swipe_.

 _Swipe_.

No such luck.

The massive creature became more predictable the angrier it got. _Perfect_. The boy gave his opponent no time to recover as he rushed forward, burying the blade past fur and flesh. The bear cried out. Given room, it staggered back, surrendering to its wounds.

Then the girl remembered. She looked over to where the cubs were. Her eyes trailed back to the bear that was almost finished.

 **"WAIT! STOP!"** adrenaline rose in her throat to speak, **"That's their mother! Don't _kill_ her!"**

Whatever pain she already had doubled after that stunt. Her body shook on its own as she tried to roll on her stomach, getting to her feet. It was useless on her own.

Ratonhnhaké:ton nearly broke into the bear's torso had the girl not intervened. Though the creature's fur was fine to the touch and the meat could last for days, she wasn't in the wrong. The bear's wounds could heal over time, so it would not suffer for long. There was no point in running from it as his opponent groaned from exhaustion. The boy softly rubbed his nose at the damage he inflicted, but ran up to the bear's targets to check for injuries.

"(You saved us, my friend)," the native boy said, but knew the girl wasn't just as lucky, "(Where did she even come from)?"

"(She'll have to explain everything after she's treated)," he said, looking over her shaking form. He leaned in to see if he could pick her up. The action made her suck the air through her teeth and shut her eyes. No doubt it was whiplash causing the pain if not a bit of bruising. The huffed through his nostrils, turning to his friend. "(Go on ahead and tell the healers of this. Take the bounty as well. I am sure the others will understand why the others will understand why it is low)."

"(But it's not)," his friend showed the animals he'd caught.

"(How...)?" the native hunter had to admit to be flabbergasted.

"(I had a good teacher)." He gathered the rest of the bounty and made his way back to the village as fast as possible. Whoever that girl was, he owes both her and his companion his life.

"Ugh..." Tsipporah managed, "Yep. Now I know why my mom hates the great outdoors..."

"Can you get up?" he tried to sit her up carefully. She felt nothing but pain channel her system, but it seemed to have lessened.

"I think I can." Or not. Her legs gave out as soon as she thought about it. Ratonhnhaké:ton became face twisted with worry. Wordlessly, he wrapped her arm around his nape and scooped her up at her legs. He stood up and walked without much effort as if there had been no scuffle with a large beast at all. The girl started to wonder if the boy was even human. She wasn't exactly a light package; certainly not one to carry after a fight like that. She had little choice in the matter, anyway. Her eyes nearly closed listening to his steady heartbeat until she noticed the patch of blood soaking his sleeve. "You're hurt!"

"It is only a scratch," he gave a light shrug.

"Don't get all Monty Python with me!" seeing him bleeding made for great distraction, though, "Did your friend take my stuff?"

"At least you are still able to speak," he sincerely felt relieved at that, "You nearly had me worried. But why are you concerned for your belongings so much?"

"My first aid kit... it has things to disinfect wounds..." she was too disoriented to recall whether or not it was actually fetched from the woods, "How else I was going to thank you for saving me back there?"

"By resting and letting your wounds heal. That is how you will thank me." The girl responded with a smirk.

"You know," she groaned, "Until I can get your name down, I think I'll call you 'Boss'."

"'Boss'?" he almost laughed.

"Because taking on a bear alone was pretty boss."

As heartfelt as that was, she knew he still had question for her. He'd never seen anyone dress like her before or carry such strange items on her person either. His companion made off with her backpack with ease despite the hole ripped into it. He caught a glimpse of books, tools, and strange contraptions so new to him. Although, seeing that she needed rest from the day they've had, he'll have to wait much to his dismay. Tsipporah hummed as she saw the wall marking the border of the village come into view. Thick, compacted lumber tied securely stretched on for some miles. The height didn't seem reach any farther than twenty or thirty feet. Already she could hear people conversing in a foreign language, almost worried and curious.

* * *

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton, what is this about a strange girl in the forest)?" an elderly woman surrounded by other natives spoke out as the boy approached. "(Kanen'tó:kon told me she was in great pain after a bear attacked her. And what of you)?"

"(Unscathed, Clan Mother)," he replied, "(And the girl said she had urgent business with you)." He accept the fact that he was "fine".

"( _Hmm_. So you say)..." she eyed his injured arm. "(Go to the Medicine Woman. She is ready for both of you)."

The boy didn't have to be told twice for he was already there. The girl looked back wanting to inquire about that old woman she just saw, but better to have her pain treated first. It started to creep up in her throat again. Her skull was beginning to feel the effects at last and shifted to rub her temple. She hoped that the native boy would get his cuts and possible bruises healed as well. From what she's seen, he's obviously no stranger to misadventures.

The two entered one of longhouses and their noses were greeted with an intense scent of herbs. Tsipporah's hands flew to her face at the immensity of smells. She nearly went into a coughing fit. There were so many spices in the air, she acted as if the incense emitted poison. She waved her hand to clear the air around her frantically. The smoke was a bit too thick for her liking; it nearly blinded her.

"The herbs will not harm you."

"Yeah, well, I never did like the smell or taste of medicine."

"(You both seem healthy enough to speak, but I still must examine you)." An elderly woman clad in animal skins and feathers approached the children. Her brow lifted as if she wasn't surprised to see the boy in the state he was in. "(Put the girl down. I was informed of the battle with a bear and of her injuries. I am not surprised to see you back here, Ratonhnhaké:ton)."

Tsipporah found herself laying down on a straw mat to medically examined. Well, "medically examined" was one term for it. The immense smells that filled the room relaxed her a great deal. It almost made her forget about the pain. The medicine woman allowed her to relax a bit longer before chanting over her body. The girl was starting to muse of whether or not the woman was using some sort of magic because the pain diminished significantly. The woman spoke to her, but the girl wrinkled her nose and the boy translated her words. She wanted to know if the pain was still great as she patted out every crease of her muscle, waiting for a reaction. None really. Those burning herbs in the small hearth were working like a charm, but caution should be taken. Ratonhnhaké:ton was getting patched up as another woman entered with grounded herbs to brew with water. The boy didn't flinch or make any sound as his wound was poked, washed, and cleaned. Tsipporah rolled to her side into a fetal position, wanting nothing more than to sleep at that moment.

"(Now she sleeps)," the Medicine Woman mixed the tea she planned for the girl to drink. It would have eliminated any nausea she'd have later. "(The spirits cannot have her rest yet)." She tapped the girl's shoulder until she jolted up. The woman handed a large flask for her to drink from, but gazed at it questionably. The boy had no problem with it, so she obliged.

And regretted it after.

She covered her mouth, recognizing it as tea, but it lacked any sweeteners. Then again, she should have known it wouldn't have any. The native boy failed to cover the small laugh at her melodrama. She almost wanted to splash the rest of the tea at him to see how he liked it.

* * *

It was late into the evening when Tsipporah had enough energy to walk about and take in the sights of village. The Medicine Woman spared no expense and made sure there were no bruises, signs of internal bleeding, extensive headaches-pretty thorough. Well, the girl never saw the point in lying to a medic, but the boy seemed to develop that habit. The woman inspected him despite him saying how he felt fine. She scoffed and had her helpers make more teas and brought out the available natural ointments. It was almost comical. _Almost_.

The boy explained to her of the village and its people: Kanatahséton of the Kanien'kehá:ka. She was a bit embarrassed that she'd refer to this group of natives as "Mohawks" when that was a reference created by their enemy tribes this whole time. Everything else was general knowledge, though. The three sisters (corn, beans, and squash) were part of their essential dish of foods and harvest as well as pumpkins, the women fished and the men went out to hunt often in the summer, and the workload in the village is shared by both sexes. Tsipporah stared wide-eyed as if she were in Disneyland. Her hands traced over the wall of the interconnected longhouse like it was made of authentic gold. She recalled the ceilings being high and the structure made of nothing but strips of bark, wood, straw, fibers-mostly natural resources. The girl walked past women conversing in their language and carving into pottery. Others sewed clothes and other materials. What made the girl not linger was the direct stares she was getting. Understandable. From what she learned in World History class, natives don't have the best experience with outsiders. The more she thought of world history, the more she wondered how it was even possible for longhouses to be out here like this.

"Hey," she stopped her native acquaintance, "I still need to speak with Oiá:ner."

"What _is_ your business with her?" he crossed his arms.

"I already told you earlier: it's important. What I can say is that someone from this place contacted me." He didn't seem satisfied with that answer.

"Anyone I know?" he pressed. The girl wrinkled her nose.

"...You _really_ don't like outsiders, do you?" she bit her cheek, "It's 'cause I'm black, right?"

His defensive stance weakened on that one question. He knew the girl was different and strange, but...

"N-No. I was not-I would never-"

"It's fine, boss," she raised her palm, "I need my backpack. I can better explain with the things I drew... Where _is_ it, anyway?"

"Over there." he looked over her shoulder where other young men and women gathered in curiosity. Much to Tsipporah's dismay; she nearly had a heart attack at the sight.

Everyone had something to hold: books, supplies, toiletries, her sketchbook-She dashed over to the crowd so fast, one of the girls rose to her feet, believing the girl wanted to fight. Tsipporah skidded to a halt. The native girl stood tall clad in a blue-dyed animal skins with tassels hanging by the ends with knee-high moccasins. Her skin was certainly as fair as the boy's and her eyes were just as fierce. Tsipporah pressed her lips into a thin line, caught off guard by how beautiful she looked.

"Ineedmystuffbackplease." she murmured.

"How weak," the taller one tsked, " _This girl_ is the one fought a bear?" she looked past the girl to Ratonhnhaké:ton who was somewhat thrilled to see her. "I am surprised you have not taken her head from her pudgy body. Then again her hands look too soft to be a threat."

"Have her things returned to her, Alsoomse," he demanded, "And where is Kanen'tó:kon?"

" _Eating_. What else would he be doing?" she rolled her eyes, picking up the girl's now empty backpack and almost stepped on the guitar case. The girl made a bee-line for it as if it was going to be run over by a car. "You're a spirited one..." she turned to the other children to have everything set down to be returned, leaving the young one to release a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The claw marks that tore through her backpack were patched up rather creatively. It certainly resembled the colorful pattern's on that tall girl's attire. There was bead-work and animal skins patching the whole thing together as well as an eagle feather hanging from the top zipper. In fact, it looked better than before. Everything was put back except her sketchbook that the tall adolescent took the liberty of looking through. Tsipporah was... rather upset that it was being poked at.

"Hey," she tried to keep calm, "I need that back, please."

"When I'm done looking. This is rather good. Better artist than warrior, it seems."

 **"Now, _bitch_." ** she gritted her teeth. She was never too fond of people kidnapping her "baby". The native girl opened her arms, daring the girl to challenge her.

The native hunter said nothing and swiftly took the sketchbook from the other girl's hands. He knew how stubborn and stand-offish this frequent visitor could be. The girl called Alsoomse scoffed humorlessly at her now empty hands, but the girl quickly thanked her for fixing her backpack. She was even more thankful that she got herself a new case with a code-locking mechanism. Tsipporah asked who that girl was, but was told that she was "trouble waiting to happen". Once the two got away, the girl made sure to dog-ear the set of pages with the native woman's portraits. She urged him again to take her to the Clan Mother. The woman spoke little English, so he'd have to translate. The sooner she sought her out, the better; which didn't take long. She sat in one section of the longhouse, kindling a fire. The woman certainly had no reason to be assisted with the way she went back and forth, throwing in firewood. Ratonhnhaké:ton walked in first, gesturing the girl to do the same. Why she suddenly got so nervous was beyond her.

* * *

"(Peace, Clan Mother)," the native boy sat by the fire. The old woman nodded.

"(Peace, Ratonhnhaké:ton. I imagine the Medicine Woman was thorough)."

"(As usual)," he gestured to the girl who stood about, "(This is Tsipporah Martell)."

"(The one who wants to speak with me)..."

Tsipporah took that as an invitation to sit with them since they were staring hard enough. Taking a seat between them, she took out her sketchbook, flipping to the dog-eared pages. She skimmed through her thoughts to keep her explanation short. She had so many questions, but wasn't sure how many would be answered tonight. Here goes... anything.

Whatever the girl had to say, the native boy translated. She spoke of the disturbing dreams she had for weeks before she came here-was brought here, really. She never knew the woman's name, but have seen her in her dreams numerous times that she's gotten her features down. Tsipporah passed her sketchbook over to the Clan Mother. She wasn't sure how she'd react as longhouse members value each other deeply. Clan Mother took one look and placed a hand over her mouth, but dropped it to her lap. She shook her head as if she figured something out. This only made Ratonhnhaké:ton more curious. He scooted over to get a better look.

" _Ista_..." he whispered softly.

"'Ista'?" the girl looked at them back and forth. Nostalgia nearly consumed them.

"This woman is my mother," he never looked away from her portrait.

Tsipporah tapped her fingers in her lap, unsure how to continue. She earned their full attention now, so why stop? She went on to explain what the woman wanted her to do once she got to the village; how the Oiá:ner was to explain to her the purpose of the village's neutrality and their choice to remain so. There was something about their land protecting a sacred place that she had to know about. Outsiders couldn't just waltz into whatever sanctuary they were defending. She even went in detail of what she did during the village fire-that dream she unfortunately remembers vividly. There were books she was trying to save and a last resort to contact her. Now that she spoke of it, she recalled how in her bathroom at home, a burnt corpse was pleading with her; she couldn't tell them about it, though.

The onslaught of information overwhelmed the native boy, but Clan Mother understood. She explained how the woman was her daughter named Kaniehtí:io. Her rebellious nature is what made the best and worst of her, but she loved her people and the culture they had. Speaking of the dead past their mourning period was not their way, but the child had to know. Kaniehtí:io said someone was coming to their village, someone that could help them. Tsipporah felt the boy's disquiet. The more the Clan Mother spoke and he translated, the more he fidgeted.

"(Then I believe it is time that you received some answers as well, Ratonhnhaké:ton)." he leaned in close. "(I know you wonder why it is we do not wander from these woods. Why it is we do not join the other Kanien'kehá:ka in war. It seems you will have your answers tonight)." She looked to the girl that sat quietly fiddling her fingers. Of course she didn't understand their language, but still had some grasp of what awaited her.

The two spoke their native tongue for a moment before the Clan Mother stood up. She walked over to a wooden box that was tucked away and opened to reveal a glowing, transparent ball with foreign markings on it. Both children leaned in close to see it, awestruck by its appearance.

"What is it...?" the girl barely blinked.

Ratonhnhaké:ton held it in his hands as the glow intensified. Tsipporah gave it a little tap, thinking it was meant to do something more than just look pretty. She held onto the boy after the burst of light filled the room and the Clan Mother was suddenly gone.

" _Greetings, guardians_."

* * *

"First the dreams, then the forest, and now _this_. I'm starting to think this is what a drug trip looks like..." the girl shrugged as a white figure of a veiled woman looked over the two.

"Are you... a spirit?" the native still held the crystal-like ball.

" _You may think of me as such_."

"Where are we?" the surrounding area didn't look much different, but an outline of what was.

" _You are where you were before. If you mean to ask what it is you now see-it is known as the Nexus. From here, probabilities are calculated so that the proper path may be chosen_."

"What path?" both children asked in unison.

" _Yours_."

The room was soon flooded in a blinding, white light.

Once everything faded, the girl felt light. A smooth breeze caressed her cheek as her body lifted into... _the sky_? A panic came over her when she saw where she was. The ground was far from her reach as she passed over trees and flapped her wings.

 _Wings?_

 _"Follow me..."_ a voice ahead said, yet all the girl could see was a fiery, golden eagle sailing through the clouds. There was another bird cry.

"Boss?" she managed to say, "Holy shit, why are we birds?!"

"What have you done to me?!" that voice... Tsipporah looked to her side and saw nothing but an able-bodied eagle flying.

" _I've selected a form familiar to your culture. It is designed to ease navigation_." the 'spirit' spoke on, " _We have waited millennia for your arrival. You-who will bring to him the last piece. That he may open the door. And you-of the path ahead-for you to be brought here at such a crucial time_..."

Of course the spirit was aware that she wasn't from-well, this place. She didn't quite understand "the path ahead" portion, but listened to see what she could make sense of this because this little adventure stretched on more than she originally anticipated.

"I do not understand..."

" _Nor need you_ ," the spirit paused, considering the boy's tone, " _I sense my words cause pain. Such was not my intention. You are important, child. In more ways than you will ever know. Both of you are_." The so-called navigation had gotten more complex with twists and turns through the trees of the forest and rough cliff-sides. It almost became difficult to follow. The rush of warm colors over the given landscape made it all the more surreal. Though, for them to be brought out here in this dream-scape was all the more questionable. The girl wondered what the spirit meant by "important". " _As we speak, forces gather in secret, preparing to seize control of the land. If they succeed, the sanctuary will be breached_."

The spirit directed her attention to Ratonhnhaké:ton and how his lineage was special-that they have changed the world and will continue to change the world in the future. And how he will, too. It was crucial that she contacted the both of them. A Watcher to maintain the sanctuary and the boy to stop those who will try to reach it. Should this happen, the work the spirits have done will be undone. Images flashed before the children of the village being destroyed to stake a cruel reality: if nothing was done, Kanatahséton and the Kanien'kehá:ka will be reduced to nothing.

 _So that's what this is..._ The girl made some sense out of this. The native woman... Kaniehtí:io knew that her people were still in danger. Now her son was mixed up in this, too. But there were still too many questions left in the air.

"What am I to do?" the boy asked.

" _You will learn of a man who will provide additional training_ ," an insignia flashed numerously before them, " _Seek_ _this_ symbol. _No doubt you have many questions. Time will see them answered. For now, you must follow. Leading is for later_."

* * *

Tsipporah rose with a start, blinking slowly at the sun rays waking her. Rubbing her face from a deep slumber, she saw that her limbs returned. She would have believed that she was going to appear back in her room, a plane-something of home-but saw the trees surrounding her and grass patch she laid on. The girl sputtered her lips in frustration. Seems she was still in the native's area.

 _Natives._

The boy was there, too, in the dream she had. She got to her knees, ready to search for him, but was short lived. There he was, sleeping beside her. She almost panicked at the thought of him...Her shoulders straightened at the thought. _Why would she be worried?_ They just met. And he was a _hunter_ ; he could do well by himself. She brushed it off as her pre-teen hormones coming on. She couldn't deny that he was badass, but she'll probably get over it. Right?

"Hey, boss," she poked his face, "Wake up. We're outside again. Come on, I don't wanna get suplexed by another bear!"

Wasn't much of a morning person it seemed. He wrinkled his nose with a groan and brushed her hand away. Tsipporah sucked her teeth at the failed attempt, her knee fidgeted in disappointment until another idea came to mind. She patted her back pocket to check if it was still there. She bounced in place happily when she pulled out her cellphone. A Cheshire-smile grew on her face as she cranked up the volume of her alarm clock. Giving it a second, she placed it right on his ear. Soon enough, an unholy blaring of sirens echoed through the trees, scaring away any birds or animals faster than any hunter or poacher would. _Speaking of hunters_...

"Good morning, boss." The girl greeted innocently at her acquaintance that nearly fell into creek after jumping into a fighting stance, his knife and stone tomahawk unsheathed to lay down punishment. Tsipporah tilted her head nonchalantly. "Oh... so you were awake-"

"What did you do..." he seethed; more angry that he was woken with a noise so great that his ear was literally ringing.

"You'll be fine," she waved off, "Just a little alarm for heavy sleepers."

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave the phone a hard look as if he mentally placed it on a personal hit-list. The girl laughed aloud.

"The battery's running out, anyway. I probably won't be able to use it after a while." Sadly, she won't. There was no point, anyway. She did try to call her mother the other day, but no such luck. The service was out, too. She tried to not let it get to her.

The native hunter huffed, finding a random stick near the creek and crouched down to draw in the sand. The girl came by his side, recognizing what drew. So they _did_ have the same dream. Or perhaps the dream wasn't a dream at all?

"(Where, Ratonhnhaké:ton? Where did you see that symbol)?"

It was Clan Mother and the Medicine Woman that approached; both carried travel essentials. The girl saw that the Medicine Woman was carrying her things. Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, telling her of what the spirit told him. He knew since the day those pale men came and destroyed the village nine years ago that they would return. Something had to be done, but now something great was asked of him. Clan Mother saw it. She looked to the girl and knew that she would also have a part to play in this. This was bigger than just protecting their sacred land...

"(I will not sit here and wait for our end)," the boy stated.

"(Then I release you. You may leave)."

"(Why have you changed your mind)?"

"(Because I cannot change yours)." she handed him a sleeping roll for his travels and the Medicine Woman promptly gave the girl her things along with some wrapped herbs enough for the both of them. "(You will find what seek in a place to the east. It was there I saw the symbol. It was borne by a man who will surely help you as he once helped your mother)."

"(Thank you)," the boy was ready to set off, bu Clan Mother wanted a final word.

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton, yours is a noble heart, but I fear it expects too much. Go. Seek your symbol. Find your way)."

"(Keep that child close and from harm. Your destinies are aligned)." the Medicine Woman added.

The two elderly women walked away, but the girl saw how much the boy meant to them; what he meant to Kaniehtí:io. He'll have to go on this hero's journey without saying goodbye to his fellow villagers and all because she appeared? It was all for saving the village and its people, just like the native woman wanted, but at what cost? She really started to wonder when she'll return home. Although, with all the trouble the elders went through to have them leave and ready for travel, she could at least thank them.

" _Niá:wen_ ," she called out, hoping her thanks wasn't mispronounced. Both women looked back and smiled a little at her attempt as they made their way back. "Did I say it right?"

"Almost." he nodded to the cliffs. Tsipporah wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Are... Are we climbing up there?"

"It is the fastest way to get to our destination before nightfall. How is your footing?"

" _Nonexistent_ ," she replied, deadpanned. The boy raised his brows.

"I will show you then. Follow how I climb. Better that you learn now for later." He spared no time and walked across a log to get to the cliffs. The girl made a frustrated noise, but followed anyway.

"This is going to be a _long_ journey."

* * *

 **New chapter coming soon! :D**


	5. Chapter 4: Massacre

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING: suggestive rape, racial slurs**

* * *

 _"What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies."_

 ** ** _Aristotle_****

* * *

Scaling a cliff was starting to be more difficult than taking on a bear. The bear's ending blow would be mercy compared to this. Carrying luggage, no matter how organized, made it all the more challenging. Tsipporah was beginning to lose color in her knuckles as she pulled herself up for dear life. The native had speed and strength on his side, but kept encouraging her that she was doing well. She wasn't sure whether to love him for his enthusiasm, or hate him for having the enthusiasm of a personal trainer. He stood tall at the top, waiting for her to catch up.

"Do not stop; you are almost here!"

"I think I'd rather fall to my death... _my legs are burning_..."

"Embrace it! It means you are getting stronger!"

She mused that if her hands weren't hurting like hell, she'd throw a rock at him for convincing her to climb in the first place. Of course the climb made for faster travel time, but it was simple... _for him_. Once she made it to the top, he gave her room to pull herself up. The girl wasn't too fond of the state of her open palms. The skin was either pale or bordering red in some places. She rubbed them together to ride out the stinging feeling between them. She gave up on her legs halfway through; felt like an ant colony was scampering on her nerves. Not the native; with endurance like his, he clearly wasn't human.

Aside from the steep paths leading down into a hunting region, or the sudden run-in with the cougar, the two didn't have much trouble reaching their destination. Albeit Ratonhnhaké:ton fought the mountain lion both skillfully and recklessly, the girl still scolded him for using his forearm as a shield from its jaws. It even took a chance at biting at his nape, but only managed to scratch at the boy's shoulder blades instead. He got meat and fur for his trouble, so he brushed it off; not Tsipporah, though. With injuries like those, they would have to be treated immediately. After a snapping argument, they compromised on cleaning the wounds better once they reached their final stop.

After yet another bridge crossing, and a rather interesting banter between two lumberjacks, the two had finally reached a large manor on a hill. It had the fairness of any modest colonial home of red bricks and a tiled roof with the porch having parallel columns holding up a solid slab for shade. Although, upon closer inspection, the manor had seen better days for the tiles looked slightly cracked. It made it all the more curious how the inside may look. The girl put her things down near one column as the native hunter went to knock the door. He barely gave it a moment before knocking again. The door swung open with a tired, old man clad in colonial attire stood hunched with a cane at the doorway.

"What?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"Um... I... I was told that you could train me."

" _No_." And that was that. The old man's footsteps receded from the door.

"Wha— Hey, wait a minute!" the girl called out, wrestling the door knob. " _Son of a_..."

Ratonhnhaké:ton knocked the door again, but was given the same answer. **"I'm not leaving!"**

"Hey, boss, you may as well let me look at those injuries now." He clenched his jaw at how coming to this place didn't play out the way he imagined. It didn't deter him. He would try again. "Don't give me that look. It's going to rain anyway and it's late. We can bother the old guy tomorrow."

The native hunter paced before giving in. The sky was turning dark and the clouds were gathering. Thunder promptly sounded from afar as well. They both stood around, wondering if there was any place they could camp without getting soaked. Ratonhnhaké:ton stepped off the porch, spotting the manor's stables on the side. The thunder sounded again with the rain coming down in heavy showers and the wind showed little mercy. The two children headed for the stables before catching the worst of it. The girl spared no time taking out her first aid kit. She gestured for the native to come hither; he obeyed... _eventually_.

"We'll get in tomorrow, stop sulking." Inspecting the bites on his arm, they definitely needed stitching. She was eternally grateful for the medical seminars in P.E. "At least we finally got here."

"It is not enough. That man has to train me. Otherwise..." he didn't want to think of the worst possible outcome. "He has to train me. _He has to_."

"Well, luckily, your wound isn't too bad. Doesn't need a lot of stitching wire, but definitely some sanitatio—"

"You do not seem concerned that the old man refused us."

"I am, actually. I just deal with disappointments better, apparently." her eyes never left the start of her needlework. "I just hope you don't get sick from this bite. Now let me see your back."

She gestured again for his back to face her. He made a sour face at her suggestion and the girl remembered that most native tribes weren't to keen on touching or being touched by people they just met. He sighed heavily, pulling his top over his head. He was fit, alright; no surprise there. That cougar really clung to his back. The marks went in to curl a bit of meat and slanted off when the beast was pushed off. The girl shook her head at the damage done, but thankful that it wasn't as worse as she imagined. After some time, the wounds were fully cleaned and patched up. She swore her first aid kit will be of more use to him with the fights he'll get himself in. A shame that they wouldn't be able to build some fires or cook the meat that was acquired because of the weather, though.

"I have been meaning to ask," the native started. The girl responded with a small grunt. "Where did you come from? Clan Mother said that my mother expected you."

"To be honest, boss, I don't know how to answer your question. There's something I gotta _confirm_ first." She's had suspicions of being in an entirely different world to begin with and passing the hunting region scratched the surface of her worries if not seeing a fully established Native-American village. The smell or residue of fossil fuels was completely nonexistent. With the birch and spruce trees growing in the forest, it was clear that she was far north; maybe even close to New York. She could see it on his face: dissatisfaction. He wanted to know more about the person traveling with him, the one his mother sent to the village to help them.

"Sorry I can't give you a straight answer right now, boss."

"You are not at fault. I only wished to know something about you."

"Just know that I'm gonna do good on helping you because if you keep getting injuries like this—" she pointed to his mended wounds and he cracked a toothy smile.

"I'll teach you to hunt and fight if you are so concerned."

Tsipporah laughed, thinking it was sarcasm, only to quickly find that he wasn't joking the harder he stared.

Once he silently made his point, the boy immediately laid out his sleeping roll to get some rest. The girl shrugged her shoulders, recalling that she only took a pillow and a blanket for a two-three hour flight. She figured leaning on the stable wall was enough. The idea was short-lived after Ratonhnhaké:ton actively argued with her that she'd ruin her back that way. Didn't seem like he was going to let her sleep unless she took his cushion, but with his injuries, she couldn't. He protected her after all. Though, he was adamant on her taking it, so she shared instead, covering them both with her blanket and making use of the long pillow. It didn't take long for the native hunter to fall asleep. It was no surprise with all that energy he had to sleep like a rock now. The girl let out a yawn and closed her eyes to the light pattering of rain.

* * *

The next day was the same. _Exactly_ the same.

Tsipporah woke up, realizing that she had the cushion, the pillow, and blanket all to herself. Rubbing her eyes, she heard a commotion over at the manor. She sighed roughly. It was no wonder who it was really. The boy made an attempt to speak with the old man again and had gotten more and more impatient with the fact that he was being turned away. He climbed to the back balcony to get inside once more only to be criticized and turned away again. She rolled her eyes. That boy wasn't going to get trained by anyone, being aggressive like that. Not like he was going to take on the elderly. When Ratonhnhaké:ton returned, he muttered to himself and nearly paced so much that he could form a hole in the stable flooring.

"Rough morning?"

"The old man will still not speak to me."

"Yeah, well, he has to. Otherwise we came for nothing." She saw that he was visibly distraught. "...Boss?"

He exhaled some of his anger and looked at her.

"Can you... teach me how to hunt since we're out here?"

Anything was better to get his mind off of his current failure, plus the girl figured it was time to get used to fending off predators if they're going to travel the woods. She had a feeling that they would be doing this frequently, too. They went further from the Homestead, enough into the woods that they may get some materials so that she could make a decent weapon. Having experience in crafting, shaping a basic bow and arrow wasn't too time consuming. Using it was another story. The boy made it look so easy and fluid. The girl kept at it until she at least hit the mark of a tree. Close enough, but no cigar. Ratonhnhaké:ton patted her shoulder, saying that it was enough for today. The sky was darkening. Looked like it was going to rain even harder tonight.

The two retreated to the stables before the downpour came. That time was spent going through Tsipporah's belongings. It entertained the girl to see the native spending more time with her CD player and headphones than anything else. She could've sworn he played " _Gangsta's Paradise_ " four times. She pulled out her phone for a candid picture of it with the little battery it had left. He had asked about the case she carried, but it was instantly shut down; as much as she would show him, humidity is no friend to guitars. Once boredom filled the space, they decided to sleep before it had gotten too late.

Though, it did not last long.

Ratonhnhaké:ton woke with a start when he heard footsteps approach. The rain seemed to have left, but trouble has undoubtedly here. He gently shook his travel companion that almost jolted with a loud groan, so he covered her mouth, pulling her close. The pre-teen widened her eyes at the action, fully alert to a now vigilant native hunter.

"Shh..." he gestured for her to reach for her bow and she didn't skip a beat. He released her, keeping his weapons close to confront the intruders. "Who are you?"

"No one you need concern yourself with, little breeches."

The intruders didn't look like regular burglars with the attire they had. And what good would it do them to try some game in the forest at night? Unless they came here solely to rob from the old man. The girl pulled back an arrow just in case, but for what? She hoped she wouldn't have to hurt someone with it...

The strangers gave a smug smile, knowing they can take on the boy with their numbers. "Best cut 'fore something bad 'appens."

"No."

He brought up his weapons and attacked as soon as one of the strange men thought it was smart to do so. In less than a second, one of them was on one knee and soon had his throat slit open. The other went in once the boy ended the first with a pointed bayonet. With a pull forward, the second target found his chest getting caved into a bloodbath by unforgiving stone. Tsipporah found her hands shaking at the sight. She had always seen violence on TV and even played fighting games, but this was not entertainment before her. More men appeared on the scene to surround her companion. She adjusted herself to get a grip. It was clear what the situation was: _kill or be killed_.

"Hah! Look at the savage dance!" "Songs and spirits can't save ya now!" "Give up and we'll spare your red-skinned ars— **AGH!"**

An arrow found its way into one of them, piercing through the calf muscle. The man bent down in agony until another made its way through his back.

 **"You kiss your mother with that mouth?!"** the girl shot another as most of them were trying to defend themselves from the native hunter. She couldn't bear to hear those slurs and stand by. Staying where she was, she managed to count three men shot and killed, and another injured and finished with a hunting blade. Others were solely slain by her "boss". A short gasp escaped her lips as another tried to stealth his way to harming the native hunter. The arrow was swift to reaching his knee and the boy flipped the man over his shoulder, holding a blade to his throat. The girl walked up in their confident victory.

"Man... I shot the hell outta those guys, boss," a breathless girl gripped her bow still. Though he kept an eye on one of the intruders, he acknowledged her presence. The adrenaline was still high in them.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?" he pressed for answers. The intruder merely sneered.

"Best ask the bossman."

"Wha— ** _AUGH_!"** the girl felt a hard knock to her temple and toppled over. She soon saw a small pool of blood form around her along with her vision blurring. Before the boy could react, he, too, was batted in the face was met with soft mud after.

"Take the girl," a taller man in plain colonial labor clothing nodded to the other man, helping him to his feet. He turned his attention to the native that was giving his men some trouble. "Pretty sprightly, you are. Then again, I heard this place was something for troublesome fighters. You're working for the old man, is that it?"

The boy kept silent, glaring in defiance. The larger man waved off to his surviving henchman. "Now I imagine that this shit-skinned lass right here would give me better answers, but I think I can find better things to do with that mouth of hers. Maybe that'll get you talkin'."

The pre-teen felt her body get rolled over and she opted to uselessly kick her way out of her predicament. She yelled for the boy to say nothing to "these bastards". Nothing could be done with both of them down. Though, many things were going to be done to them. The rain started to pick up and the girl tried to blindly fend off her attacker until he finally got her pressed into the ground, arms apart. A growl sounded in the boy's throat at his own vulnerability in that moment. The pain was ringing in his ears. His mind called out for the rest of his body to move, but to no avail. If he dared to move even a muscle, it would be the end of him and no one to aid her. His companion was going to be hurt or worse. His breathing hitched when he realized the girl wasn't screaming anymore.

The "boss man" keeled over with blood gushing from his rib. Once he fell over, the old man rolled him aside, helping the boy to his feet. Tsipporah got to her feet with the old man's aid, but still felt the head injury overwhelm her. Ratonhnhaké:ton steadied his friend from falling over again.

"Thank you," the boy managed.

"Clean this up," the old man went back to the manor, "Then I suppose we should talk..."

* * *

Ratonhnhaké:ton asked for the millionth time if the girl was alright; she was shaken up from killing for the first time among other things. She kept her face low as they towed the dead bodies away. He apologized for not coming to her aid, but she suspended any further attempt for conversation. Once they were inside, she silently mended any injuries they both had, knowing full well that the native hunter was sure to ignore his own.

Tsipporah contemplated for the thousandth time that night why she hadn't questioned what this journey had in store for her before. She was abruptly pulled from her place with her family into a hostile environment altogether. It was clear that it was set on a path to save the world-that it was no coincidence that the native woman's son would be a major piece in all of this-and that she would be involved somehow. This "adventure" was anything _but_ fun. Then again, no surprise there; she's seen nothing but bloody fights and trippy dreams since she arrived. And what adventure has ever been fun to begin with? The one thing she'd never thought would bring a smile to her lips was Ratonhnhaké:ton accidentally breaking a chair by the fireplace. The look of guilt on his face looked too genuinely cute to not laugh at.

"Sorry," he said timidly as the pre-teen snorted at his expense.

"Not your fault. This whole place is ready to come down. Goddamn miracle it hasn't already. Anyway, who are you two?" the old man gestured his cane to the children.

"Tsipporah Martell, sir."

"My name Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The elderly man furrowed his brows. "Right... Well, I'm not even going to try and pronounce that. Now tell me why you're here."

The girl saw that whoever this old man was or what he could teach them, his dry humor was already cheering her up. The native boy showed him a piece of paper with the unique insignia drawn there. The two didn't have any idea what they were asking for; only that they were to come here. However, the term "assassin" piqued the girl's interest.

"As in 'sneak around and kill people without raising an alarm' assassin?"

"You two had best settle in. I've got a story to tell and it's going to take a while to get it all out."

And a long story it was, indeed. He explained in great detail of the people of the First Civilization conceiving children with humans, thus giving a selection of people a sixth sense; The Precursor Sites and Pieces of Eden that was sought after for many centuries; the involvement of Assassins in several major historical events, what they stood for, their Creed; and what the Templar Order was and what their end-goal was for the world. Everything seemed simple to gather: the Assassin Brotherhood sought for peace and liberation for humanity while the Templar Order saw humanity to be controlled and the world can be "saved" in this manner. Both parties can accomplish their goals with the Pieces of Eden, but the Templars seek to control humanity-ridding them of free will.

"—and so this is why the the Assassins have dedicated themselves to the pursuit of the Templars. Because if they succeed, your spirit's vision will become a reality."

"Then I will stop them." the native boy proclaimed.

The old man shrugged, seeing how eager the boy was to even try to be a hero. He gestured for the two to follow him down the hall, warning them that it was no joke that the house was a bit fragile. Ratonhnhaké:ton asked why the elderly man wouldn't repair the manor or even go shopping for them in town, but his suggestion was written off as "naive". Tsipporah scoffed in agreement. If those men were of any indication of why this man was wary... The girl bit her cheek, wondering if the boy really was this innocent. Does he honestly believe people were as fair as he was?

They ventured into a secret basement resembling that of dojo. It was void of weapons, supplies, excluding a hooded tailcoat attire standing in the center of the room. Near the costume was an engraved, wooden box. The boy prodded curiously and the old man tapped him with his cane.

"Don't you think you can just come in here, throw those on and call yourself an Assassin."

"I... did not... I would never presume—"

"It's alright," he dismissed, "I know they've a certain allure."

The girl thought it over in that second. That woman brought her all this way to fulfill something she was certain she could not. The pre-teen thought she was appeasing a ghost; whatever past transgressions it may have had, but that wasn't all. This woman had a duty to protect her people and despite all the fighting, it ended in vain. She also feared for the struggles her son may face in a world where their culture was in danger of being oppressed and soon eliminated. She's already come this far, she may as well not procrastinate.

"Sign me up, too," she blurted. The old man had his back turned, but paused at her words.

"The boy made his claim obvious." he stated, waiting for her reason.

"Before the spirit, there was a woman who passed-she brought me here. Her name is Kaniehtí:io." That caught his attention.

"Well..." he chuckled dryly, as if not surprised to hear that name, "So she succeeded in doing the impossible." The boy wasn't sure what to make of this.

"I..." she stammered at his expression, "I-I'm sorry I don't understand."

"Tell me, girl. Where do you think you are? Or rather _when_ do you think this all is?" he continued as her face tensed, "You are in the Colonies of 1769. _When_ are you from?"

Tsipporah pinched the bridge of her nose, "Two... something like 200 years from now, then... Are you telling me she pulled out of my own time?!"

"My mother..." Ratonhnhaké:ton spoke carefully, "She was capable of such a thing?"

"If she brought another Watcher here and succeeded as well as you, then I suppose there's no use in sending you back. Besides, seems it will take more than a group of mercenaries to dissuade you, boy." He took a pause, "Very well. I'll train you. Then we'll know if you've the right to wear those robes."

"Thank you... uh..." he never did get his name.

"Name's Achilles."

* * *

A wall of conspiracy was unveiled and brought about memories the boy never thought he'd revisit. Portraits of men that were either closely linked or are active members of the Templar Order right down to its leader. Writings and scribbles marked whatever stance they had in colonies. After what Achilles went over, it was clear that they controlled the colonies and supported the British. The girl recognized what this was: when the American Revolution would start. What's more was that her "boss" was determined to see that these men would die to save his people-even his father, the Grand Master of the Templar Order. She sucked her teeth, thinking of how the plot was thickening.

Achilles showed them where they could sleep, though he was not sure how stable the bed was upstairs and that there was only one bed. Ratonhnhaké:ton looked to the girl to give her space. She shook her head.

"It's fine, boss, you don't have to—"

"The road to getting here was difficult for you and I will not have you sleep on the ground."

"I don't care about that, boss. You did all the fighting—"

"As did you—"

"Boss—"

"As much as I enjoy the restlessness of new apprentices, I might change my mind altogether should this continue."

Achilles gestured his cane for the two to settle down before they'd have to settle for the great outdoors for another night. Both children kept quiet after that. Although, they compromised in sharing a bed once more since the girl didn't want her companion to sleep on solid ground with mended wounds. At least the meat gathered from hunting could be stored and better saved. Tsipporah wished she was tired from all of the "excitement" she's had, but it was useless. She could only look up at the empty ceiling of an empty room from a homely bed. It didn't take long for the boy to notice her alertness.

"You are still troubled?" he laid on his side, looking at her. She couldn't bring herself to face him directly; not with those big, innocent deep-brown eyes staring at her.

"I just still have a lot of questions," she fiddled with her fingers, not bothering to cover herself.

"As do I," he moved to lay on his elbows, "You are from the future. What is it like?"

"Eh..." she wondered if she enlighten him, "Honestly, I don't think I should get into it. Time traveling has rules, boss. I'm too far into the past, so this info's kinda sensitive."

He made a noise as he pouted, still wanting to know more. The girl fully turned to him.

"Don't be like that," she smirked, "The old man let us in and we get to train as recruits. Didn't you want that?"

"Hmph..." he sat up, "The others in the village have always thought that I would depart merely because it was what I wanted. This was not a choice. It was an obligation. Because if not I, then who?"

Tsipporah had to admit that she envied his sense of heroism. As much as she loved mysteries, conspiracies, see new places, learn new things; harming others was just not her forte, but this boy was willing to go there. Powerful men that now control the colonies were their enemies. The Brotherhood is in no shape to be standing on its own legs either. She needed tougher skin if she was going to survive here. However long that may be, anyway.

"Jeez, I swear you're something special," she yawned into her hand, "Then again, I guess that's why you're the chosen one, boss."

"So are you," he added. "You climb, fall, and fought well for your first time."

"What you can't take compliment without giving one back?" the girl poked fun as she pulled the covers over herself and he blushed. "Haha, are you blushing, boss?"

"We... We should get some sleep. Our days will be full of training and little time to ourselves, I imagine."

"UGH. That's right. _So much running_ ," she dramatically pouted and poked her stomach, "I already waddle and that old man will no doubt tear me down for it."

"Do not sell yourself short. Believe in yourself, I know I do," he lightly drummed her stomach in jest.

"Please, boss, I just called you 'chosen one' and 'boss' in the same sentence; don't spoil it."

* * *

The several weeks they spent at the Manor were filled with nothing but training physically and even more so mentally. Whatever break they had was spent teaching Tsipporah to hunt, something she slowly took in due to her obvious love for forest creatures. The native hunter welcomed her tenacity to learn, though. Not that many of his friends, save for Kanen'tó:kon, would often go hunting with him since he was too "vigorous" and went beyond the forest boundaries at times. Whenever they were left to study independently, the girl would add into some history, mythology, the arts and her knowledge on philosophers. It was nice to be appreciated for it. She was used to anyone outside of her craft easily becoming bored with how much she gushed about Homer's epics and the Trojan War. At night, they would share stories of their lives or something of their culture. With the old man, they've become something of an odd family.

"'Haitian'?" he had his third venison. Achilles sipped some tea that Alsoomse had brought the day before. She and Kanen'tó:kon would come a few times a month or a full week to check on their "fearless leader" and his "trusty sidekick".

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, don't talk with your mouth full," she pointed with her fork, "And yeah, that's where my family's from, but I was born in America."

"Do you miss them?" she swore he had a whole roster of questions like a five-year-old sometimes.

"Sometimes, but then I remember that they're not born yet, so..." she scooped up a mouthful of venison.

"What about you, old man?" the girl tried not laugh. The boy doesn't call him "Achilles" or "master" or even "mentor" most of the time.

"Eat your food, boy, and do well to not speak while you do it." They've been together for several weeks now and he still won't open up; not even a little.

"At least _try_ to pronounce his name, Achilles."

"Not on your life, girl."

The children were bummed to see that he didn't share any stories of his past comrades. Or even say their names often. It's almost as if-no not even almost. He expected them to quit and go home, so he wouldn't deal with them anymore. Even more so that the boy was more than upset. However, he probably isn't the only one. The elderly gentleman didn't seem old from the walking cane or the fact that he was, in fact grey and withered; he was tired. The entire space around them was quiet. Even looking past him, getting a small glimpse of the home inside, there was nothing but darkness covering every corner. If not for the one day where they decided to dust the whole place, the manor would look more like Pluto.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" a frequent visitor yelled from the hallway, "(Alsoomse and I will leave once the sun rises)."

"(Why not stay for the night, Kanen'tó:kon)?"

" _English_ ," the old man pressed.

"Jolly Rancher and Ms. Moose wanna stay for the night, sir." Achilles shrugged, knowing that they'll get themselves killed trying to get back to the village if they traveled by night. He had little choice but to let them stay for the night.

"I told you not to call me that, _tubby_ ," the independent native walked in ready to confront Tsipporah, but the native hunter wedged himself between them.

"You mispronounced 'thick and fun-sized', Rain dance."

Achilles cleared his throat, cuing the small group to disperse. The pre-teen and the native hunter gathered the dishes to wash while their visitors waited in the hall. Their master may be old, but one would be fool to cross him. The children cleared the dining table with haste. They knew if they didn't excuse themselves to sleep, they'd be forced to study or run around in the dark woods. Tsipporah said her goodnight's and went upstairs with fatigue painfully shutting her down.

" _Ó:nen ki' wáhi_ ," she waved behind her and closed the bedroom door.

"Well, her Kanien'kehá:ka tongue has gotten better, she climbs trees and hunts..." Alsoomse lifted a brow, " _And_ there's only one bedroom, I see."

"Yes. What are you saying?" Ratonhnhaké:ton was losing his patience. He knew this one would always try to push his buttons whenever she could.

"Are you not growing close to her? You speak of her so highly when, really, she's not yet to your level of finesse. Your eyes grow large with stars when you look at her." He clenched his jaw at her words.

"They are here to train, Alsoomse, nothing more," Kanen'tó:kon corrected.

"Believe what you will. I do not blame him, though, she proves to be interesting company at times," she gathered her sleeping roll, retreating to the sitting area, "I shall take my leave in the morning."

The native hunter grumbled. If he argued with her, she'll only find more evidence to her "theory". His childhood friend patted his shoulder in reassurance. As great a young warrior she is, she worries about the assassin apprentice in her own way. She'd often run off from her village to visit Auntie Ziio, or at least that's one of the respectable names given to one of the most precious people in her life. She treated and tried her son as if he were a younger sibling of hers. Both were excitable and rowdy in communication, but it never dampened their relationship. Alsoomse could read all of his expressions from him hiding something to something more. Kanen'tó:kon didn't mind her much. Both friends seemed so much alike to him. The independent native even helped him perfect his English.

"She means well, my friend. You do smile more when _Skawennahawi_ is around."

"Call her by her real name, Kanen'tó:kon. It's 'Tsipporah'."

"See," he gestured his hand, "Your face brightens when you say her name."

"Goodnight, my friend," the native hunter dismissed his companion. He knew better than to carry on in this conversation. "Travel safely in the morning."

* * *

Six months had passed with nothing but welcoming chaos. The green warmth of the landscape was banished for cold white.

Everyday was filled with a new lesson in the history of the Assassin Brotherhood and Templar Order, and the difficult training that came with it. She spiced it up in her own way. She gave Ratonhnhaké:ton written tests and essay questions every two weeks along with a pop quiz for every subject they went through to be sure he remembered even the most trivial of details. Scaring off poachers, bandits, and mercenaries was a part of their daily routine until only few groups would dare to scout the property. A vast majority swore that ghosts were haunting the forest to punish them for their sins. The girl entertained this rumor by finding ways to mimic noises she's heard from the horror games she's played.

Upon arriving at the manor one night, she stopped at the doorway. Every step became scarcely quiet in the unlit hall. All that harsh training shed off whatever large curves she had, now replaced by a curvy, athletic build. Keeping to the walls, Tsipporah fixed her eyes on her target that was so blissfully unaware of her pres-

"Your breathing is still too loud, child," the old man sat with his back turned, casually drinking tea. She was too enthusiastic to be shut down by his bitter lecture.

"No it's not. I'm as quiet and mysterious as the moon," she continued her pursuit and Achilles sighed.

" _Please_ , you've already failed."

"No I haven't! Where's your sense of fu— _ **FUCK!"**_ her feet was swiftly swept under and was on her back in seconds, hitting the fragile wood below. Before she could counter or block, a strong weight held her to the ground; a feeling of something cold and sharp brushed against her jugular.

"You are dead," Ratonhnhaké:ton gave a smug smile, "I have killed you."

"Score's two outta three," she tried to move, but the boy was stubborn.

" _One_ ," he corrected, "I heard you before you struck last time. It disqualifies you."

"Ugh, _Achilles_!" she waved her hands for assistance that the old man had no business giving. He simply admired how great this grade of tea was.

"You know what to do; break out of it."

"Your rescue is always appreciated, old man." She huffed, not liking the fact that she got pinned... _again_. Unconventional approaches was something he taught them recently. Something else had to be done here. Trying anything would keep her pinned to the ground. She mused of how he must really like to be the one doing the pinning. Then, somehow, an idea struck her.

Tsipporah's struggle suddenly stopped with her hands dropping to her sides as if she were surrendering. Watching the native hunter through her lashes, she lifted the tension from her body. Every muscle became lame to accommodate for what was to come. Her breathing softened on the chilly air around them. Only suspicion strengthened his guard now. For a moment, he thought his companion was falling asleep, but saw that she still had her eyes opened slightly. She could be giving up, though the old man encouraged her to try something. Before he knew it, the girl grabbed him by the hem of his tunic, pulling him close. The act of it all genuinely surprised him. Their noses were merely centimeters away from each other. He was only glad that his tomahawk was still at her throat. As long as his weapon was in place, she wouldn't dare to try anything drastic. Albeit, he was cautious of how she gazed into his eyes as her fingers grazed gently along the lining of his tunic.

" _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ ," his name passed her lips in a soft, melodic lyric. Her dulcet voice fed a small ember in his chest. He somehow found it a chore to breathe the longer he looked at her. She pulled him closer. The native hunter tried to resist but to no avail; the grip on his weapon was weakening. He could hear his heart beating through his body and deafen his ears. His hair fell forward, brushing against the girl's face as their lips were millimeters away from touching. The boy slowly gave in as his eyes began to close.

 _Just like she planned._

His weapon was easily taken from his hold as Tsipporah pushed into his chest, bewildering him, and leaving him at her mercy for her next move. Her knee drove into his side in order to force him to the ground. Once he was down, the adolescent straddled atop the "fearless leader". An arrogant smile plastered her face.

"You are dead," she mocked, "I have killed you."

Ratonhnhaké:ton's chest rose and fell along with a look of frustration. Of course she would try anything to win at this, but not this. Especially this.

"You deceived me," narrowed eyes glared at his supposed comrade.

"She heeded my advice to be unconventional, boy. Next time you will exercise caution. Your opponent will be capable of anything." Achilles excused himself to wash out his now empty tea cup.

A silence settled between two; the girl took her weight off of her victim and pulled him to his feet. Her eyes that once shown with a glint of mischief turned stagnant upon looking at the boy's face. Disappointment flooded his trusting brown eyes. Honesty and fairness were always one of the many ways of how his people lived with a sense of serenity with each other. To use such tricks to disarm a man was dishonorable. His feet carried him to the room they have shared for months that was now held few items of the Kanien'kehá:ka. A large blanket of carefully patterned designs covered the bed along with matching pillow cases. The boy had brought his mother's necklace that hung on the wall for all to see. Not much could be added after that as the wood was still took weak to be trusted with more decor. Silence overtook him as he prepared for bed, but the girl was at a loss.

"What's wrong?" she gave a wry smile, "You still mad that I won, aren't you?"

No answer. Only his back.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, come on! You're giving the cranky face; I can feel it." She knew who much it was appreciated when she used his real name. She even recalled how bright his face had become the day the correct vowel rolled off of her tongue. He finally turned to face her. Tension soon polluted the air around her, but not before confusion did.

"I realize that much time has passed and I have yet to learn more of you. I am aware that there are things you do not wish to speak of..."

"I already told you, though. About my family, what I did as student before I came here—" an epiphany struck her, " _Time out, boy_. Are you mad because I almost kissed you back there?" His face was stoic, but his eyes were downcast. "It was a fight, though; something to use for the field."

" _Would you_?"

"Would I what?"

"Use that tactic for the field?"

"Not really," she shrugged, "It—Why are you so hot and bothered by it, anyway?"

"It does not _bother_ me." The girl playfully scoffed. He may as well pout with that weak statement.

"I'm starting to see why Alsoomse says that you're a terrible liar," a Cheshire smile graced her lips, "Did you want me to kiss you?"

She swore the more she pressed the obvious subject, the more her native companion was determined to leave the discussion. He could not, though, since he brought it up. He had to finish it somehow, but his refusal to speak only added fuel to the fire.

"Oh my god..." Tsipporah squealed, "Oh my god... _you did_! You did want me to kiss you!"

"Please stop." He promptly pulled the covers over himself, facing away from the impish looks he was getting. She'll never let him live this down. "Tsipporah, go to sleep."

"Aww, don't be like that boss! Don't be mad at me! ...Hey, you can't be sleeping already."

"I am not angry with you," he sighed, feeling his heart swell in his chest, "Far from it, I'm afraid..."

The girl crossed her arms. If not anger, then something of irritation. This was not the first small dispute they've had. It has been more than just several weeks spent together; he taught her to hunt and spar while she helped tutor him in the ways of world beyond the colonies. Plenty of debates were exchanged in the heat of each given subject. Techniques were experimented every time their master issued them. The adolescent swore he would also argue for the "little things" she'd do. Weren't they just friends? Why does he turn from her after the fact? Her hand barely brushed his shoulder and he visibly flinched. She pouted as she sank herself under the covers, unsure if whether or not she just ruined their friendship.

* * *

Sunlight blanketed the landscape at last, yet the shadows of the night before remained. Ratonhnhaké:ton opened his eyes once the warmth of the rays washed over him from the window before the cold prodded him to move. Moving to sit on his elbows, he achieved full consciousness when he realized that he was the only one in bed. His companion probably took off early in order to attempt to make breakfast. The scent of roasting meat was faint, but apparent. The memory of her lips ghosting still haunted him; those full, untouched lips... He pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel such thoughts. She was a respectable comrade in arms sent to aid him and his people so that they would not see themselves felled by the world outside. Exhaling, he decided to get some air.

A drawn horse and carriage came into view as the boy made it outside. Achilles sat down ready to move, but he appeared to be waiting for someone. The native walked briskly towards his mentor, both greeting each other.

"You taking a trip?" he leaned notably.

"Yes, I've decided to do something about the house." With his apprentices vigorously cleaning, it was logical to only renovate. The boy bothered him for it ever since they moved in, really. The carriage door abruptly opened with an impetuous invitation.

 **"Get in loser, we're going shopping!"** a jack-in-the-box has a more graceful jumpscare.

"Get in," Achilles gestured with the tapping of his cane.

The horses were directed down the forest path to reach Boston. The adolescent girl was still drowsy from yesterday's quarrel despite the boasting energy. Dark circles faintly showed under her eyes and there were intervals of yawning amid her breaths. It didn't take long for the boy to make note of this. He assumed that she made no plans to speak or study while they waited to reach their destination. She did eventually gave in and slept. Ratonhnhaké:ton figured that this was best; they would both avoid the awkwardness of each other's presence. He groaned when the ride was taking longer than he anticipated. He fidgeted furiously, mumbling to himself how he could've taken that CD-contraption to occupy his time or even a book.

When they reached Boston, the native shook his comrade awake. Snorts and yelps escaped her mouth before she even blinked. The old man hurried both of them outside. He didn't too fond of being the open city and the girl could see why. The streets were based with grey in every direction save for a few brown roof-tiled stores and two-story homes. Some structures were poor in build, already having blocks and bricks falling or loose from the sides. Stepping forward, a mischief of rats dispersed after picking up what appears to be some poor fool's finger. The townsfolk passed by in dark tailcoats, tricorne hats, long paled dresses and simple bonnets. The girl and the old man shared a look of disapproval of this place. It's 1770; their kind and color were _far_ from welcome. The cover of ice and snow made the air even more grim. The native apprentice, on the other hand, shared the look of a child's stay in Disneyland.

"This place is incredible! The people, the sounds, the smells... I could walk these streets for days and know not even half its wonders."

Achilles chuckled dryly, "I thought the same as you once upon a time. These days I prefer the quiet of the countryside."

"I think I prefer it, too," Tsipporah cursed under her breath, "More trees, more animals—" a man pushed her to the side and mouthed a racial slur "— _less racists_..."

"But there is so much _life_ here. So many opportunities." his enthusiasm never wavered.

"For a few, my boy. For a few," the old man pointed out. He wasn't wrong either. Slavery was still at its worst during this time. The trio were walking live targets if not for the skills they possessed. The adolescent wasn't surprised by his naivete taking him over at some points. This was his first time visiting a city. Even though the bandits and poachers behaved as such, it would be no surprise if they found trouble in a place like Boston. Their mentor took both teens aside, giving them money to buy items at the general store a block away. Though, he couldn't have the native apprentice wander with the name he had at present.

"Your skin is fair enough that you might pass for one with Spanish or Italian blood," he observed. The girl saw differently.

"He looks pretty brown to me, master," she stated, deadpanned.

"Better to be thought a Spaniard than a Native. And both are better still than or her for that matter."

"That's not true," the boy argued.

"What's true and what is aren't always the same."

"What would you call me then?"

"...Connor," the old man said resolutely, "Yes. That will be your name."

The street ahead was clear, save for some beggars and homeless. The two shared a thought in sparing a few pounds to one. He looked no younger then they were and his clothes were worn out with a few tears at the hems of his brown pants. He was also missing a sleeve on his matching jacket. Adorning a thin neck scarf with underlying white and green plaid, one would think he would be freezing. At least he was wearing shoes. Tsipporah gently called out to him. The young man sat on the ground looking weary until he looked up to see two faces gazing at him.

"And what are you two _dunderheids_ looking at?"

"Money," Connor said kindly, "If you want it."

"Now why would I-" his stomach sounded with the cries of hunger, "Eh... What's the catch?"

"No catch," the girl added, "Only you get to eat and we part with a few coins."

The boy of blonde hair opened his hands in disbelief that anyone in this city would be so charitable. When the girl dropped a fair amount of coins into his hands, he stared for a moment, then scrambled to store them in the pouch strapped to his leg. Looking back up, he saw that the strangers disappeared. The two teens made their way to the general store at last. Not all of the items on their shopping list was in stock. Shame, for they needed lumber to get renovations started. The girl sighed in relief that they didn't have to stay in the city much longer since their errands were finished. Not too much chaos ensued. Everything was perfect...

...for a moment.

Of course on every corner of the street, there were protesters speaking out against the taxation of the British and the aggressive evictions happening. Sometimes they would taunt the soldiers that marched along the street. As soon as the duo left the general store, there were citizens charging into any number of men with red coats. Anyone bearing the colors of the British was assaulted—not with just words alone. Tsipporah knew better than to cross swords with trained soldiers even though Ratonhnhaké:ton and herself trained in something far more avant-garde. Confidence in her skills was never an issue-it's merely caution.

"We should return to Achilles," he made sure his companion was close.

"Yeah, no shit, boss."

Thankfully, their mentor was not far from them. He waved his cane for them to come hither and they spared no expense to follow. Both were unsure of what happened, but that's what they were going to find out. This entire backdrop of conflict looked all too familiar to the young girl. Something in the recesses of her memories of school told her that this was something vital; it is 1770, after all. 1770... the date echoed in her mind. Something imperative to history happened early that year. She did not get her answer until they stopped at a large colonial building, someone shouted:

"Quickly! To King's Street!"

 _Oh, shit_. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Before she could make her worries vocal, Loyalists gathered around the townhouse and shouted for the colonists to return home, but they would not have it. Coming to Boston was a mistake. Not as much as what was coming next for them.

"There," Achilles pointed what was to be host of tonight's pandemonium. It was him—the man at the top of the chain of conspiracies of the wall of Templars.

"Is that my father...?" he never expected to see him so soon, let alone so close. The temptation to walk over and speak to him face to face was so great.

"Yes, which means trouble is sure to follow," Achilles pointed out, "Connor, I need you to tail his accomplice. Tsipporah, stay your eyes on Haytham; find out where he'll leave to. This crowd is a powder keg—we can't allow him to light the fuse."

"But—" Achilles interrupted the boy.

"'But' nothing! Do as I say and go!"

The two went off to pursue their targets.

"Careful not to slip on the snow," the girl joked.

"Careful your target does not hear your loud breathing," he countered.

They did as they were taught. The girl was clad in a long dress made to run errands and quickly tied on a simple white bonnet. The Grand Master walked away, unguarded by any mercenaries; not that he needed any. If the man is as dangerous as the old man claims, then he already saw her a mile away. Maybe even closer. He, too, shared a sixth sense that his son now had. It almost made Tsipporah wonder why she was a Watcher if Assassins had this honing sense already. There was one dream that the spirit returned, saying that their _Eagle Vision_ is but a fraction of what Those Who Came Before were capable and that she will do " _much more_ "—whatever that meant. She blended with the crowd whenever appropriate, but this clearly knew he was being followed for he checks over his shoulder religiously. After what seemed like the hundredth turn into an alley, the girl almost walked into a dead end. Thankfully there was a small group of people sitting around. She bit her thumb, assessing where her target could have gone.

"Quite the tenacious one, are you?" a gentlemanly voice of a British accent appeared before her. She restrained her panic.

"Good evening, sir." she spoke timidly and kept her face low. She realized then that the group had dispersed around her.

"Good evening, young miss," he walked closer, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?" she feigned the innocence of an obedient slave girl, "I do not under— _ **HAH...! ah..**_."

The man locked her wrists together, dragging her towards him impatiently to point a pistol to her throat. He sighed as if he were a disappointed parent lecturing his child.

"Quite the show, young miss, but you could do so with less noise," he tsked, "After all, did you think that I would not know when the Mentor himself would decide to revive the Brotherhood. And to a life so young, how shameful..."

 _ **"Wait, Grand Master!"**_ another man with a strong accent arrived beside him. He wore an outfit of black with red lining. With the buckles on that outfit, he could pass as a character from Final Fantasy. "She's just a girl! What harm can she do even if what you say is true?!"

"Shay..." he lectured calmly, "You once told me that anyone who supported 'that man' you would see killed. Is she not above that promise?"

The man called Shay exhaled a cloud as he looked at the helpless child at the mercy of his master. Tsipporah was taught to not beg for her life in her training, yet she had to do whatever was necessary to protect the Brotherhood. Though, there was so much she wanted to do, to see, with Achilles and...

"Just this once, Grand Master, and I will not get in your way again."

Haytham's eyes turned to the girl and she didn't like what she saw. There truly was a darkness there, a darkness solely determined to snuff out what light she had. They tore into her as if to mark her not as a target, but a dead man walking. He released her, but not without slamming her skull into the brick wall. The Grand Master turned to his follower, shaking his head. Then he heard it: a sudden gunshot sounding off from down the street and other gunshots followed with the screams of the riot. He gave a small smile in satisfaction that his plan worked. A wave of a hand signaled for his accomplice to follow, leaving the girl lying in the snow.

"What of the girl, then, Grand Master? Are we not taking her in?"

"She's of no use to us; merely an apprentice. So is that boy she was with. The Loyalists will form ranks and search for the one responsible for the first shot. Knowing the chaos that will ensue, surely even a girl of that stature will be unable to escape unscathed. Miss Davenport."

A petite woman in a red coat attire waltzed gracefully before the Grand Master, saluting him in an unspoken obedience.

"Please see to it that we have no more attempts on our plans tonight."

"With _pleasure_ , Grand Master," a certain arrogance dripped from her tone as she turned on her heel, sinking into the shadows of the alley.

The Grand Master sent his follower clad in black and red away in time to see what another accomplished. He took this opportunity to tap on a soldier's arm and point out the native standing on the roof that was seething how the Templars got their way and many people were either badly injured or killed. The boy made his way down, but not without seeing that his comrade was no longer tailing his father. He made a break for the alley to gather his thoughts. Boston was a big city; not too big. She wouldn't have wandered so far that she could not return to Achilles.

 _Achilles..._

Passing the statehouse, he saw that the carriage was gone and the tracks were faintly prominent among the tracks of feet in the snow. He scoffed in disbelief that he and his comrade were practically left behind. Orders were shouted from the rear to shoot on sight. Connor climbed up the frosted brick of the townhouse, praying that he would find his companion. She would've been popping up somewhere already. Had she left along with the old man? He banished such thoughts before they took root. She promised him herself that she would help no matter the cost.

Sliding metal sang from ahead. He readied his grip on his tomahawk and hunting knife for whatever was to come. A small figure ghosted along the roof tiles. Her attire was that of a British soldier. A wicked smile graced her features as her brunette hair was caught in a light wind.

" _You_ are my target?" a mocking, youthful voice said, "You are so amateur. A mangy dog like you should keep your nose in the dirt of whatever hut-house you hail from. But it is of little consequence. Come, _mangy dog_ , are you ready to die?"

* * *

Tsipporah rubbed her eyes, but the pain searing her skull greeted her before any light reached her vision. She groaned as she found a wall to help her to her feet. Blinking a few times, she saw people running in every direction. The massacre on King's street... The Boston Massacre happened. They failed, but the again, this was supposed to happen. It's what ignited a revolution in the first place. The girl shook her head, steadying herself. If the boss failed his mission, he would have fled the scene before the soldiers or the Templars caught on. This was fine. She shouldn't expect someone to come to her rescue. It was best to stay hidden for awhile until things calmed down. Only then, could she flee the area. On the other hand, with all of this chaos, she could slip out all the same. She sputtered in frustration, deciding to keep to the shadows of the alley. Well, that was her plan until she saw her boss jumping from a townhouse roof and a Red Coat hot on his tail. Several other Loyalists followed in their formed ranks to take him on along with a few grenadiers and and some officers.

" _Shit_ ," the girl sobered up the best she could, mixing with the crowd, she carefully pulled out her hunting knife and sank it into the back of one officer and went for the next. The patrol believed that they were the ones cornering the perpetrators until the girl diverted their attention. As the officer fell, she snatched his saber and flintlock, cutting down the next unfortunate soul. She heard gunshots go off in Connor's direction, but upon inspection, he already found himself a meat shield of an officer.

The petite girl she saw before her vision went black was there delighting in the boy's struggle. She could see it; he's been trained well, but has never taken on a whole patrol of trained officers. Tsipporah cursed under her breath as she continued to mow down everything red before her. There was no time to call out or alert him. After slaying the officer near to her, the girl leaped forward, tackling the Red Coat into the snow. She grunted in annoyance that a slave girl had the audacity to touch her. Kicking her opponent in the face, she ran forth with purpose to finish her target once and for all.

But her finish did not go as planned.

After the first diagonal strike, she saw that the supposed slave girl put herself between her and her target. It mattered not; she could finish this girl and—

The girl turned in time to face the petite officer, but she would not leave unscathed. The first cut was deep. She immediately felt more than cold of winter on her lashes. The second almost dashed across her sternum, stopping the Red Coat's blade with her own feeble dagger. Tsipporah felt the chill getting to her as pools of blood sloppily found its way into virgin snow. The struggle paused as a loosed musket ball knocked off the petite girl's tricorne. This wasn't good. Her target wiped out the patrol and the girl proved to be stubborn. At least this night was made a bit interesting. Guess dog fights are worth it.

"Perhaps another time," she back-jumped from her opponent, "I hope you enjoyed my artistry. Death becomes you." She retreated, but the boy could care less at that point. That young woman would have slain his friend.

 _ **"Tsipporah!"**_ he caught her as she nearly fell forward, "Do not worry, I am here—I can save you." His hand accidentally touched her back and she emitted sharp hiss. Blood completely covered his palm to the tips of his fingers. He hastily went to an alley so that local patrols wouldn't see them. Her breathing became scarce. Leaning himself on a wall, he held the girl close, hoping the patrols would clear out faster. "It is alright, my friend. Nothing will happen to you..."

He looked at the wound. It was undoubtedly deep, cutting into muscle from her shoulder to her hip. Connor ripped a piece of his tunic and put pressure on the extensive wound. It needed more than just stitching or pressure. She was losing blood... lots of blood... _fast..._

"Looks like I helped in the end..." she said tiredly. The boy begged to differ.

"Yes," he responded, "And you'll keep helping me."

"That girl... was sent to kill you... Shit, I see why now," she saw his fruitless effort to stop the bleeding, "You gotta find a way to get—get back... back to Homestead, boss. The Grand Master might deal with the Mentor—"

"He left," he said bluntly, "Achilles left us here and the Templars—"

"It's—" she swallowed, tasting blood at the back of her throat, "It's a bit late f-for that... boss. You gotta go... back to the manor without me. You're strong and b-brave... so I know... I don't n-n-need to worry."

"Stop it... _**stop it...**_ " he turned her to face him, "You will not die today, do you hear me? Never speak like that! I _will not_ lose you. You are going to live."

Ocean of tears traced her cheeks heartily at his fearless resolution, but she knew she could die at this moment. Her vision was nearly blurring. She's been away from home for a long time. Or perhaps not. She often thought of her family, but none of them had ever boldly held her this way or worried for her this way. The girl knew with a past like hers, she deserved such treatment, but what did she do to deserve such a passionate friend. She wanted to tell him to give up, how could she? All that came out was choking sobs into his collar.

"So you're Achilles' apprentices," a voice down the alley spotted the two. Connor gripped his hunting knife. "No need for that; I'm a friend. Sam Adams sent me for you and the girl. Plus..." he came into a better light, "you did give a bit of coin for food and for that I am in your debt."

"You..." the boy recognized the weary beggar from before, "Who are you?"

"Fillian McCarthy, at your service, boy, but my friends call the _Robber_."

* * *

 ***Ó:nen ki' wáhi - "goodbye"**

 ***Skawennahawi - (feminine name) "she carries the message"**

 ***dunderheid - (Scottish slang) "idiot, simpleton, one not possessed of all their mental faculties "**

 **See you in the next chapter everyone! :D**


	6. Chapter 5: Encounter

_"We are fallen into the most unhappy times, when even innocence itself is nowhere safe!"_  
 _ **Boston Gazette, February 1770**_

* * *

Such an independent spirit couldn't be held back even at the behest of her comrade. The wilderness held no obstacle that posed as a worthy challenge. While the forest was rich with game, arrows were loosed from a single bow. All of them hitting their marked prey. Hunting these woods became too simple. Her blood craved more than just the peaceful frolic through the virgin snow. Sounds of wolves howled far in the distance. A huff of icy smoke dissipated into the air as she gathered scraps. How she managed to lure animals from their shelter, no one knows, but she made sure to spare the rest.

Alsoomse rose to feet, allowing the bag of bounty sling over her shoulder. She would hunt. If she she did not occupy her time with sparring, hunting, or even killing, then she would be alone with her thoughts. She was never too fond of her own musings. Musings that would trace into the scars of the one she called mother burning alive. When she thought of all that came after, another poor birch would find itself dented at the bark by a firm, bloodied fist. The young native woman was filled with uncertainty about her own restlessness. Did she not spend enough time with the one she deemed a brother? Was she too harsh on the girl who spat back fiercely? Looking at her bruised knuckle, she stood still; not even bothering to give int to the freezing weather. She would not give nature the satisfaction.

"Alsoomse!" another native called, "You will freeze out here. Please come back to the village and rest; we already have enough food." Kanen'tó:kon bent over to hold his sides. The girl was so elusive at times—most of those times being the worst. "Ah! You an animal harmed you? I told you going alone was a bad idea!"

She tugged her hand away as soon as he took it.

"I must away to the Homestead."

"Again? Do you not believe Ratonhnhaké:ton can fend for himself? Or Skawennahawi for that matter?"

"I do not know why I must go," she replied, "Sleep could not reach me nor the will to. Something is about to happen and I must protect my brother. If you wish to stop me, be on your way or I will make you leave."

"I will not stop you," he began.

"Is that all?" she was ready to leave nonetheless.

"But I cannot allow you to leave by yourself. And perhaps..." he paused, "Perhaps it is time I venture beyond the valley more often."

"Your Clan Mother will not approve of this," she walked tall without even looking at him, "You have followed me to the Homestead many times in the summer, but if you disappear during the frost, Clan Mother will see that you never venture beyond permanently."

"You are a member of this village, too, Alsoomse," he gazed seriously. She shook her head, looking to him finally.

"My _wikkum_ is quite far from the village, Kanen'tó:kon. I am no member."

"Yet you hunt with us, look after the children, gather feathers from afar. Even now, you wish to see a member that was long since released from our land."

Her sized him up from the corner of her eye. She wanted to focus more on the road ahead than sugarcoated words from some... weakling. She gave a bullish exhale from her nostrils. "Weakling" seemed like a strange thing to call this boy. Like the girl before, she recalled how he could not hunt or gather for the life of him. Stumbling, falling, and running from animals occupied his resume rather than the status of a hunter. When Ratonhnhaké:ton decided to take him hunting one day when amateur hunter requested it, she thought him mad. She went warned that their bounty would be short and that he should practice on his own. When he proved himself that day the girl came as a stranger, she was taken aback. Though, in a way, the independent native was glad that he proved her wrong. It was strange. He would be so gentle even when she blatantly sends him away with insults.

She turned to him fully, staring into his eyes. Her hips swayed naturally in her stride as she kept her unwavering gaze. The native became a bit nervous at her approach, but stood his ground the best he could until she was a few feet away.

"You and your people are much too accepting," she replied softly, "Do you think me weak by myself?"

"N-No, Alsoomse, I only fear that you believe that you are alone even when you are among us. There are others that care for your person, my friend."

"...You are so foolish," she thought of embracing him for his honesty, but resorted to lightly punching his shoulder. The retaliation was unexpected. She responded with a quick scoop of snow poured it down the front of his tunic. It became a mad frenzy to relinquish the chill his covered skin was now feeling. He planned on getting her for that. "Do not dawdle, my friend, we must away before the afternoon of tomorrow."

* * *

Blood had stained his native tunic in a fruitless attempt to control the out-pour. His comrade's body was becoming colder than ice. The invitation to possible safety was risky, but Connor had little choice. The girl he had come to treasure was bleeding to death and with him being blamed for the start of the shooting, helping her was not going to happen. The one whom they aided before, Filligan, crouched down to his level to look at the girl. Her face had gotten a bit ashen from blood loss. He furrowed his brows.

"I say she's got an hour before knocks on death's door," he checked her pulse, "I know Sam's workin' lass can fix her right up."

"Please take us to her," the boy stood, carrying his companion bridal-style.

"Dinnae worry, boy, Sam comes first; your lass will be alright. I'll make sure of that."

Unfortunately, they had to navigate through dark corners in order to get back to where they were. It took some time since the patrols were on high alert. Soon, the rendezvous was reached. A man of raven hair, pale skin, and a long navy tailcoat approached them.

"You're Achilles' boy. Connor, was it? I saw what happened at the townhouse. A fine mess, that." He gave notice to the injured girl in his arms, "And this must be your accomplice. Badly wounded in the riot?"

"Who are you?"

"Samuel Adams at your service."

"Her wound is serious," he went straight to the point, "She will die if she is not tended to."

"Fill, take her to Surry right away. My attendees will help control the bleeding." the Robber carefully took the unconscious girl from Connor's arms and was soon met with other colonist men that led the way down the street. "Achilles asked me to get you two out of Boston."

"Explain," he pressed. He knew he ran into trouble with a woman with a patrol that was specifically sent by the Templars to kill him...

"The whole city's looking for you..."

A street crier called out for the people to know that the one who fired the first is suspected to be of native origin. Posters were hung everywhere with Connor's face clear as day. All of this put every soldier and patrol on high alert. They were bound to shoot on sight.

"What am I supposed do?"

"Take down these posters, then we'll talk."

Night stretched on forever now with this errand. Wanted posters were removed with some trouble from patrols that found him skulking about. Sam taught Connor to also bribe town criers to change the story so that he may go incognito. He lastly had to shut down the printer to prevent more wanted posters from being posted. The tunnels the Freemasons used would be open to him as long as he had his lock-pick, of course, since some doors would be locked for caution. The speed and secrecy was required. When two loyalists blocked the way, Connor made it known that he had to pass.

"Stay away, man." They grabbed his arm before he could go further.

"Unhand that boy or I'll see to it the whole city knows of your crimes! He's done no wrong. Let him alone."

The patrol at the checkpoint left him untouched after that, so they continued to the tunnels. Darkness was prominent, though, it wasn't much of an issue with his sixth sense, but his attendee needed the lantern lit as well as the rest of the way of the underground halls. They reached the printer without much opposition and his notoriety reached an all time low. The city was now quiet from its recent panic. The tension of the massacre was still fresh, however. Light had already graced the sky when they finished their errand. Though, the boy argued how dishonest all of this was—to counter one lie with another. Sam disagreed for the way this city works won't simply take a trial no matter the cost. Once the city goes into a panic, your tracks had to be covered. It was something he would have to make do as an Assassin.

"There you are, Sam," Fillian ran up to him casually, "City's gone silent, but they're still on edge. Guess you showed him the ropes?"

"Indeed," Sam nodded.

"Now I know you're gonna go and ask about the lass," Fillian put a hand up, knowing a fire of questions was coming his way, "She's stable. She had a wee bit of a fever last night and burned up like a furnace, but she's pretty fit and well. Oh, yes, she also told me to tell you that if you try to go after your after the Red Coat, she'll kill you first."

"She certainly sounds stable," he smiled in relief and between Sam and Fill, "May I see her?"

"Certainly, Connor," Sam nodded, "After all, I am see that both of you are safe to leave Boston."

"Good," Fill grinned in greed, "I can go for another bowl of Surry's soup!"

As they traveled to Sam's humble abode, the boy still wasn't content with how last night transpired. Training for a few months proved that he can overtake a group of bandits by himself. Even here, he took on a group of officers flooding the streets. All of that training... and his comrade still got hurt so badly she was on the brink of death. If he could not protect her, then how could he defend a whole village?

* * *

"Your move."

Both young women were in the heat of it now. Nothing could deter them from certain victory. The older of the two made a smug look as she took three pieces. Tsipporah had lost... again. The colonist men there cheered at the maid's seventh victory in a row. The girl concluded that checkers was just not her game anymore. She could do solitaire, blackjack, four-in-row, and now she had to cross checkers off the list of games she was a champion of. It felt good, though, to be with another woman of color who was self-righteous and certain of her own person despite the lashing of society.

" _Jesus_ , woman, be gentle with me," the girl pouted, sipping more soup.

"That's not what you told me last night."

She would come with a better tease, but Tsipporah enjoyed her soup too much. Whatever the maid put in here kept the pain at bay.

"Careful you don't drink too much soup, now. You'll wantin' to take a squat soon."

"Did someone say soup?" Fillian opened the door and ran to the maid, dramatically taking her hand in his on one knee, "Surry, would you do me the honor of—"

"Soup pot's fresh in the kitchen," she stated, deadpanned.

" _Yes_! We should get married, Surry—"

"Boy, just go get soup if you want soup." He dashed for the kitchen counter for the ultimate steal as the other two entered the colonial home.

"Ah, Surry," Sam greeted her warmly, "Is our guest well?"

"With some tender love and care, she got better overnight. A fighter, this one. Still recommend that she stay put to heal, but she won't have it." When she eyed the native, she felt a bit embarrassed of not introducing herself. "Where are my manners? I am Surry good to meet your acquaintance...?"

"Connor."

" _Connor_ ," she echoed, "Your friend here was worried about you." She pointed her attention to a young girl loudly slurping soup from the bowl itself.

"I see the Loyalists couldn't shoot you full of holes, boss," she went on to lick the bowl, " _Aah_ ~ this soup is heaven~!"

" _Very_ worried about you," Surry scratched her nape and gave the two youths some space. He nodded in thanks for her service.

Tsipporah lied on her stomach on a mattress by the fireplace. She nonchalantly licked the bowl as Connor searched the scene around her. There were faint traces of blood on the mattress, no doubt cleaned once the bleeding stopped. Empty buckets were stationed nearby that may have been filled with warmed water. A unique, herbal stench emitted from them; probably to control infection, too. The native crouched to her level, but she raised a hand so that she may finish her bowl of nirvana.

"You're in one piece, boss," she turned away to burp, "That's good. You're not hiding wounds, I hope."

"That is the least of my concern. Surry said that, that you—"

"Boss, staying here is a bit dangerous," she spoke in a hushed tone, "The Grandmaster suspects that Achilles is reviving the Brotherhood and he's seen our faces. He could have crushed my skull into bits."

"So why did he spare you?" he sat down, crossing his legs. The girl grunted, but continued.

"Another member asked to spare me. Soft spot for children, apparently. Poor sucka, though, since we're gonna have to kill them all."

"You will have to return the favor, my friend." Her eyes widened to saucers.

"Did I hear you right?" she cleared her throat, " _I think there really is something in this soup_..."

"You heard right. Whoever saved you must be dealt with in turn."

"Um... _okay_ ," she raised her brows in disbelief, "Just thought we were killing all of them, but _okay_. Anyway, the colonies are controlled by the Order, so it's not safe here. They'll find us eventually and finish the job."

"Tsipporah..." he tried to reassure her. It wasn't good to be filled with stress on such a serious wound. "You must rest."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," she looked up to him and regretted it immediately.

Connor clenched his jaw as his eyes glazed over, reeling everything he felt last night. He took a short breath. He gave himself away for only a second, but Tsipporah was too observant to miss it. Last night was a fuzzy memory and only hoped she didn't say mushy crap to him; she wanted to go out like a badass or something.

"Ah boss, I didn't mean—"

"I know you did not," he placed a hand on the soft crown her head, "I am only glad to see that you are well."

The two sat in that moment of peace. Until a chorus of " _Awww's_ " from the colonial men broke up the scene. Surry failed to contain her laugh as she brought another soup bowl for her patient and one for Sam's new guest.

* * *

Due to the Tsipporah's fatal injury , they had to stay at Sam's place for a few days before leaving to Homestead. Surry sent word of this Achilles if he was to ever worry. Connor scowled at the thought. His father had countless townspeople shot and killed, and many more injured. His companion was hurt badly as well. It was difficult to stay put, but his comrade was right: staying out of sight was best if they were going to avoid any further mishaps (though he'll never admit it). He'd rather make his father pay for the atrocities he's accomplished. The feeling of his friend becoming cold in arms shook him to the core. The last time he felt so helpless like that was... He never wanted to experience it again.

Surry packed some food for the road ahead at the request of Adams. She also advised for the rambunctious child to lie on her stomach for awhile so that the stitches remain undisturbed. She went down an entire laundry list of what and what not to do. At least she could walk a little now, albeit, at a careful pace. Tsipporah wanted to ask how Surry was so knowledgeable of fixing such serious back injuries, but bit her tongue, recalling what timeline she was in. Adams saw to it that the to youths made it to the harbormaster alright before bidding them farewell.

"Here we are," they stopped at the docks, "Speak with the harbormaster and he'll see you home."

"Thank you for everything, Sam," Connor replied, "I promise to one day repay the favor."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." He nearly turned away, "Take care you two." The boy held out his hand unlike before. Adams was no longer a stranger and aided them profoundly.

"Like this?" The adolescent wouldn't live this down. She swore he had moments were he was a teddy bear or an actual bear. She would just gush every time he had a moment of innocence. After both men shook hands, the youths departed to return to the Homestead.

* * *

Upon their return, they saw that their native friends had returned sooner than expected. Just as Alsoomse feared, something dire had happened to them as the Homestead received a messenger stating what had happened in Boston. The city proved to be quite the challenge aside from the navigation alone. Kanen'tó:kon guessed right that nothing had happened to Ratonhnhaké:ton, but Tsipporah still suffered the worst. They all assisted in her getting to the manor despite saying for the hundredth time that it was not as bad as it looked. The native hunter begged to differ; she nearly died a few nights ago. He would take no chances.

"Promise me you won't chew the old man's ass up for leaving us in Boston."

"But if he had not left us like he did, none of this would have happened." he gestured to her healing injury as she laid back in her bed.

"He _left_ us, boss, but he didn't _abandon_ us. He had Samuel Adams help us. Honestly, I just hope he didn't get hurt during the mass shooting."

"If he did, then it serves him right," he paced heatedly.

"You don't mean, that, boss. You're just mad at him... _for leaving us to our own devices and possible deaths_."

Achilles was downstairs, but the boy thought best to have the girl put to bed before he discussed some serious matters. The adolescent knew better than to leave this up to him. Every time she brought up their Mentor at Adams' home, he either trampled or avoided the very mention of him. She hoped he wouldn't stay mad at him for long. He was training them and she appreciated the hell out of that, but she, too, was curious for the reason he left.

"Just promise me you'll be calm and tempered with this, okay?" she honestly didn't expect much out of this.

"I promise," he said, but knew he was going to give the old man hell, anyway. "Is there anything you need?"

"We will look after her, my friend," Kanen'tó:kon, "Do not worry."

Her boss ruffled the waves on her head and gave his childhood friend a pat on the shoulder before going down the stairs. No way he could forgive this. The same thought circulated through those short hours that he made sure his companion wouldn't catch another fever or get cut down in her sleep. She warned that he, too, needed to watch his own back. More so because the Templars are more of threat than she previously imagined. Taking them down won't be simple, period. It didn't matter how heroic his claim to stop them was. If he didn't restrain himself from obvious traps, he'd have a fate worse than hers.

He walked to the room on his left where the old man sat with a wooden box on the table.

"Welcome back!" Achilles seemed slightly cheerful upon their return, "I received word beforehand of what occurred the last few days."

"You left us in Boston!" the boy snapped.

"The training you've done here is all well and good, but experience is a better teacher by far."

"What of my father?" he pressed. Though, the old man wasn't too stressed of all that ensued.

"Into the wind I'm afraid."

"We have to find him!"

"And we will... _after_ the house has been repaired."

"But he's out there plotting who knows what."

Well, just as she suspected, he's down there picking a fight. The old man was nonchalant as she expected him to be, too, by the sound of it. He probably figured they'd come out alive but not unscathed. Part of her thought if she was being too reckless in the fight with that petite Red Coat. She sparred in how to deal with disarming swordsmen those several weeks prior. The fight she had with _her_ could have gone a bit less sloppy. She should learn to compose herself next time, even if it is just going for someone's aid. But this wasn't just "someone", it's her boss, her friend, her— That officer would have skewered him on the spot. It won't be the last time seeing her either, she was sure of it.

"(Does he argue with his master often)?" poor Kanen'tó:kon was too concerned of his friend being aggressive. It took a special kind of person to get him loud.

"(It is only Tuesday. It is an off day)." the girl almost had the accents right, but the native friend was still a bit worried. Well, _more_ worried since this is "normal".

"Never thought I'd see the day he would raise his voice against an elder," Alsoomse leaned against the wall with the girl's CD-player on shuffle. Her native friends really did like the whole contraption-playing-music-in-your-head concept, didn't they?

The yelling seemed to have stopped downstairs. Maybe he's forgiven the old man? No, that'd be impossible even for him. Then there was banging on the window. A man was yelling for help. Tsipporah slowly got to her feet, asking her friends to open the window. She stuck her head out, watching her boss run off with a frantic, yet familiar face.

"Hey!" she called out, "What happened?!"

"Someone needs aid! Go back and rest!" he went ahead. He was wearing something on his forearms, something new.

Tsipporah laid back on her stomach. It probably wasn't a good idea to do it so roughly as she inhaled sharply on the landing. This wound would definitely put her out of commission for who knows how long? She sputtered on the thought of her archery skills getting better only for this to happen. That woman dressed as a British officer was formidable. Despite her slender build, her strikes were strong and precise. It would take much more than half a year of training to take her on. If people like that were going to come after them so often, then it was best to jump back to what she came here to do. As she lied there, all she could do was the last several months. There was no actual time to themselves. Only focusing on hunting, getting stronger, fighting bandits and thieves, studying because their life depended on it; it was all for the Brotherhood. The girl wanted to do it for Ziio and perhaps herself, but her chest caved in on itself as her mind swiftly mused of her beloved boss.

He was kind and understanding, he never pried about her, he's always full of energy, he was so chill and rarely raised his voice, he's so strong, his eyes were so beauti—

"Hey, Alsoomse," she called out, "I need my CD-player back."

The tall native girl smirked at the other calling her by her name and obliged. The other native still wasn't sure why or how this contraption had such a function. The concept of it made him cautious to which the girl always found comical. Thankfully, she also packed earbuds, so she invited him over to listen to her playlist. She shuffled to something not too agonizing. Though she regretted her decision on playing it, the more she listened:

 _You sit there in your heartache_  
 _Waiting on some beautiful boy_  
 _To save your from your old ways_  
 _You play forgiveness_  
 _Watch it now, here he comes_

 _He doesn't look a thing like Jesus_  
 _But he talks like a gentlemen_  
 _Like you imagined when you were young_

 _Can we climb this mountain_  
 _I don't know_  
 _Higher now than ever before_  
 _I know we can make it if we take it slow_  
 _Let's take it easy_  
 _Easy now, watch it go..._

Kanen'tó:kon made sure the girl was comfortable as he listened to the following songs. Alsoomse occasionally moved around the room. She particularly stopped at the window from time to time as if she was attentively spying on something or someone. Her movements also got defensive like she was expecting opposition to fly through the window pane. It was starting to unnerve the young apprentice.

"Something wrong, Ms. Moose?"

"Hmph," back to the 'Ms. Moose', "There is nothing... _hopefully._ "

* * *

More snow rained down upon the Homestead, but the weather nor its severity halted the progress made for the manor. It still needed some work—lots of work. Honestly, it may as well be demolished and rebuilt if the wood was starting to rot, anyway. The man Connor had rescued happened to be a lumberjack. As luck would have it, they were hoping to open a mill in the area. Godfrey, his wife Catherine, and his children along with his friend, Terry, his wife Diana, and their children all lived closely together in the New York area as they were looking for a place to lodge. After taking the boy's proposal to perch themselves by the manor to do business, they took him up on his offer and built themselves a lodge where they could provide freshly cut wood. Upon formally meeting Achilles and Tsipporah, Terry's wife offered to oversee the girl's injury. Achilles would not escape this care for she warned that a man his age should watch himself.

Kanen'tó:kon and Alsoomse couldn't stay for long; lest they would overstay their welcome. The independent native's worries were somewhat put to rest as her companions were still intact. She would not distance herself from her intuition despite her traveling comrade telling her otherwise. She also couldn't believe his mentor gave him a false name, claiming that he should have his real name out proudly and screw anyone who couldn't pronounce it.

Diana's attentive care saw to it that Tsipporah's wound had healed quite nicely over the past few weeks. Sparring was still out of the question. The most she could do was study about the Assassins' and Templars' war against each other among other subjects that she was most curious about. Connor would sometimes stay with her as a study-buddy until he had errand to run or literally had to run. Most days, she was left to her own devices. Her phone died a long time ago, so there goes that. If not for the talks with Diana, the lessons with Achilles, or her beloved boss, she'd go insane with her drawings filling the room. Speaking of which, she pursed her lips realizing that her sketchbook had finished with only the back cover left one afternoon. She tapped her knee in knowing that wet medium was needed for this last piece.

"There's my wee bonnie lass!" Diana came in the bedroom with her homemade supper and special potions, "I see ye been fillin' the room with that magic hand ye have there. After ye get better, I can only hope ye'll do one of the family. I'll pay ye a bit of coin."

"Oh, no need for that, Didi," the girl dismissed, "You helped nurse me for days; you'll get a freebie."

" _Oh, no_ ," she disagreed, "I am payin' ye for yer talents." The girl insisted that it was unnecessary for fee, but her argument barely started when the native hunter knocked and entered. Her face lit up; this never escaped the eye of her nurse.

"Good afternoon," he nodded to them both, "Tsipporah, Achilles wants to meet us by the sawmill."

"Aye, the men finally built the lodge," Diana fetched the empty potion the adolescent chugged. "Ye can walk about, lass. The swellin' gone down."

"Cool beans," she hopped to her feet, "Just let me get my shoes." Connor stayed a minute longer to make sure she wasn't struggling to stand. She could feel his eyes burning a hole through her. Maybe that's why he was around her often when he could be studying and reading by himself. She knew he could; he was highly intelligent. His cursive and math skills exceeded her own. The girl gave him a look of assurance and the boy went on to wait downstairs.

"So when are ye gonna tell the lad that you fancy 'im?"

"Huh?" she turned with big eyes looking towards a nurse with crossed arms and a knowing look. Her brow was raised at the whole episode.

"Dinnae play the dunderheid, lass. I ken ye fancy the lad." The girl had the knack to understand strong accents since her father had one. It didn't take much to decipher what the woman was telling her. "Ye face lights aglow when the lad walks in ev'rytime."

 _ **"...No it doesn't."**_ Her guilty expression didn't help her case. "Um... augh, God."

"Dinnae worry none, lass. I ken the lad's too modest to tell ye, too. Well, heid doon arse up. He's waitin' for ye."

She silently thanked her for her services, scarfing down the freshly baked bread by the handful as she walked out. Diana soon followed after gathering the china together on a silver platter. Before she could tell the girl to finish the tea, the youth took it in one gulp. Connor was rather bemused by her hurry.

"You are certainly lively today."

"I just want to go outside," she laughed weakly. "I miss going out so often."

"You've only been inside for two weeks—"

"Sounds like an eternity in hell to me, no offense to you, Didi; you're awesome."

"None taken, lass," she went to open the door and let the children leave first, "Careful not to catch a fever in the cold. 'Tis colder than the day before."

They made their way to the lodge, but the walk was longer than the girl remembered. Then again, her back was still a bit sensitive. Walking in normal paces too long would put stress on the injury. She couldn't complain for she often said it was a sign that she was alive. Connor begged to differ. After the fourth soft hiss she made in the past minute, he scooped her off the ground and carried her the rest of the way. Diana gave Tsipporah another knowing look as she noted how the boy was such a gentlemen, but was countered with an honest remark of how the girl had always mended his wounds, helped him study, aided him in hunting, helped him in matters no matter how small; it was only fair to repay her kindness. He's too modest, as usual. The girl bit her thumb as she felt her heart race. He said it with such affection as he held her close to him, no longer feeling the chill of the air, but something else...

"I wanna walk, please," she wanted to escape her thoughts. And feelings. _Especially_ the feelings.

" _No_." he was resolute.

"I'm fine, though. I promise."

"No." He sure is stubborn. She started to pout and wiggle.

"Don't make this hard, man. I just wanna walk..." she wanted to cross her arms in frustration. The native hunter stopped and gave her an inescapably light glare. It almost made her shrink away, but knew she couldn't. She recalled how Ziio had the same hard look in her eyes. Her heart immediately crawled to her throat as his eyes bore into hers.

" _Your feet will not touch the ground until we reach the sawmill_." He pressed every word into her ear. Simple as that. She tried to look away and gulped.

"Yeah... you got it, boss. **Whateveryousayboss**."

That was it. Diana flew into a fit of giggles.

* * *

"I'll miss the peace and quiet, but we can certainly use the wood," Achilles sighed. He and his apprentices stood outside of the sawmill as Godfrey and Terry cut another piece of lumber into much needed firewood.

"The manor needs a lot of work," Connor pointed out.

"That and other things," Achilles turned on his heel, "Meet me at the small shack by the shoreline when you have time. There's something else you need to see."

"Is it a present?" Tsipporah perked up.

"What is it?" The boy turned in his mentor's direction.

"An... asset."

Connor didn't bother to ask what it was, shrugging his shoulders. Diana was a bit concerned of that. The girl had to explain that the old man left to get help for them after the shooting in Boston, but the boy took it as him abandoning them. The woman heard how the poor girl had gotten her terrible wound in the first place: they were shopping for renovation supplies for the manor when there was a commotion in the streets. Loyalists and British officers were attacking civilians and Tsipporah had caught the worst of it. Diana shook her head. Living out in the city was becoming much more dangerous and troubling nowadays.

"Well, I hope yer wound heals nicely," she walked inside the lodge, waving back, "See ye after!"

"To you as well." "See you, too!"

The two walked a little around the sawmill. Tsipporah was even more excited. Her mother never exactly let her near saws or anything larger than a pair of scissors or a xacto knife. It mattered little in the end for she'd sneak to woodwork studios. The two lumberjacks greeted the children, but then picked another subject to argue about. The native hunter came in between to break them up. Unfortunately, the girl couldn't help; even so, she's more likely to lend a hand in popcorn to watch. Connor then told her to stay put as he scouted the area. She crossed her arms in a huff, knowing she can't do much in her condition. Her silent protests came to a pause when she swore she saw a shadow dash over her person. Her eyes searched around, but found nobody—not even a presence. _Odd_. When the boy returned, he mentioned he handled a group of bandits and saved a carpenter that he invited to live on the property. The girl was happy that they could have sturdy furniture, but frowned at how he got to fight bandits. Being wounded was no fun at all. She gave the area a quick scan before leaving.

They spared no time venturing to the shoreline to rendezvous with Achilles. Though, the view of a shipwreck didn't escape them. It piqued the girl's interest, wondering if it belonged to the Brotherhood. Tsipporah spared no time wanting to distance herself from the small shack behind him. It was a bit rundown with rotted wood holding it up for dear life along with the windows smeared with some greenish looking bio-hazard. When the mentor asked her to knock the door, she remarked how she'd rather throw a rock at it. Connor rolled his eyes and knocked instead.

"GO 'WAY!" a rough and tired voice of a man answered. He sounded more than a bit tipsy, too. Achilles gestured to open the door anyway. "Said go 'way, boy. D'ya not speak the King's English? —Oh, I didn't see you there, old man. I'd set my home in order if I'd known you'd be callin'. "

"More like quarantine..." the girl mumbled, protecting her nose from the buffet of foul stenches. Talk about great things coming from small places... She would've laughed at poor Connor's reaction to the smell if not for the fear of catching any stool-to-mouth diseases.

"These two are Connor and Tsipporah. They're here to restore the property." The man in question sobered up at the word "restore".

"'Restore'...? ' _Restore'_! Pardon my manners. Robert Faulkner, at your service." He rose to his feet and went outside, pointing towards the shipwreck. "She's still the fastest in the Atlantic. Sure she needs some attention... minor things mostly."

"She looks like she needs a special prayer _mostly_." How sailors personify their ships didn't escape her. Pirate themes was one of her favorites. The red-nosed gentleman obviously wasn't one, but how could she look at him and not think Pirates and the Caribbean? Even the soundtrack was going off in her head.

"Oh, but with a little affection, she'll fly again."

"Who is 'she'?" Connor was a bit too confused as to why this wreckage had a gender to begin with. He wouldn't be surprised of his companion calling it a "she"; she does the same with her sketchbook. Was it the same concept?

"Who is she?! Why, the Aquila, boy! The Ghost of the North Seas!" The girl's eyes could light up the sky at night if she heard more about the ship in its glory days. The native apprentice has yet to grasp the concept.

"The boat?" Well, now Tsipporah knew what to teach later for their written lessons when they have off time from working with Achilles.

"B-B... a _boat_? She's a _ship_ , boy, and make no mistake about it!" the man moved to Achilles' side, "I thought you brought them here to restore order! I reckon he's the greenest thing on the frontier." He was pleased to hear that the Aquila was going to be repaired, but was flabbergasted that the repairs were being observed and made by someone nautically ignorant. Just one, anyway.

Being the daughter of a travel and a musician, Tsipporah was no stranger to every form of transportation; even built a model of ship for a group project. It was so enjoyable that she kept building ship replicas. She thought about making an input, but outshining Connor normally lead to him wanting to compete—whether he admits it or not. Achilles spoke out.

"You two will meet me back at the manor when you're finished here."

The native apprentice had to stay professional about this even though the man smelled of piss and death. "You say it requires repairs. You able?"

" _She_ does needs work—a ship is a 'she', boy—and yes, I can refit her, but I'm lacking in the proper supplies. Some... some quality timber would help me get started."

"I can see to that," Connor assured.

"And what of you, lass?" the girl was called on, "I know the old man wouldn't bring you here to stand there and be bonnie."

"...I can draw out some blueprints of the ship," she admitted, "I've been in restoration projects before to replicate old warships. By the looks of this one, she's either French, Swedish, or Spanish, but judging by the faded colors, she's gotta be French. And it should hold up to fifty-plus cannons. You also said she's fast, so that's like ten-twelve knots, right?"

"I see why the old man brought this lass out," he slurred. "Could be a regular privateer, this one."

"How long before it—she is able to sail again?" the boy asked. Faulkner had to desperately lean onto something. The alcohol was causing to turn and sway until he was met with the wall of the grimy shack.

"Just get me the lumber, boy and I'll raise a crew..." he finally sat down slouching over.

Soon enough, he let out a wavering snore. Tsipporah picked up a random branch, poking the man to see if he was really going to stay out in the cold until Connor quickly stopped her. They had to get back to the manor and not stay out in the cold. Unfortunately, they had to take the long way back since the girl was still healing.

"Hee hee, at least we'll have a warship rebuilt, too. This is the 18th century after all—naval combat is everything."

"You did not tell me you had a vast knowledge of ships," he crossed his arms, "What else do you know?"

"I know there are things you won't talk to me about that you told Achilles," she raised a brow.

"So you say, yet among all of your things, you still won't permit me to look into your sketchbook." _True_. After a period of time, she refused for him to see it further. She wasn't sure how long that'll even matter, though. She'll run out of dry medium for it, anyway.

The girl stopped in her tracks when she realized that she'll really need a studio or at least a table to do all of this. She didn't have enough art supplies for something so long-term. Shrugging her shoulders, she figured she could come up with something. She already pick-pocketed off of some bandits over time. Something could be done about purchasing supplies for this work. A nervous chill came over her still.

"Is everything alright?" Connor waited for an answer. His friend had a bad habit of being overly expressive at times.

"Ah..." she struggled, "Probably nothing I can't handle. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" he pushed for a real explanation. Her attempts to make him worry less always have the opposite effect. "Something is wrong. Explain."

"Uh..." she coughed, "I... I need a whole art studio for work like this; I can't sit in my room to draw blueprints for a warship. I'm even almost out of my mediums."

"I will see to it that you are able to work," he gave her unburdened shoulder a firm hand, "Only say what supplies you will need and I will provide them."

With her back in the condition it was in, she was sure Connor's going to be doing most of the work alone, but he didn't seem to mind it. It's no wonder the spirit told him that leading was for later—he's so headstrong when he takes on big projects. At least, if she's waiting on supplies and an entire art studio, her back would be less inconvenient then. They walked on back to the manor. It was only over a small ledge, but the two had to take the longer way. The boy was visibly worried how these walks would affect the girl's recovery. She tried to reassure him. Needless to say, it failed and she was scooped up for him to carry. Getting back would have been comical with her protests until she noticed something odd. _Extremely odd_.

Bits of snow fell from above, yet it wasn't light at all nor should it be snowing right now. The girl raised her head to the trees for a moment. Connor must have noticed it, too as she felt him use his Eagle Vision—so far, the only sixth sense she has as a Watcher. The small branches in the trees slightly rattled as if someone was climbing through them. So she _wasn't_ imaging a shadow earlier? Connor moved normally to not raise alarm. The two were still on guard even as they entered the manor.

"Ah! There you are! I've something to show you. Come, take a look." Achilles sat at a desk with a thick book out on display. The ink on the page was old. It must have been a bit over a decade when it was last used.

"What is it?" Connor read through it. It contained sales records and purchases.

"It's a ledger," the old man explained, "It lets us manage the Homestead's dealings."

"And these?" There were few writings from 1754 through 1755, maybe even something from 1756, but it was scratched out.

"Ah, that was years ago. Before the slow fever. Before the Templars. Before everything collapsed... but that's all in the past. Better focus on what's in front of us. Take up the ledger and I'll teach you how it all works."

Basically, this was the 18th century Microsoft Office Excel. Doing just about anything without the aid of technology was a bit pressing. Numbers were added up in your head, and the girl had to take time to do that since her assistance sadly came from a calculator. Accounting was never a strong suit for her, unlike Connor, apparently. He jotted down numbers that summed up to the total purchase without pause. The native apprentice kept at it until the page was full. There was certainly a lot to purchase just for the ship and the girl to get a whole studio. She found the whole thing exciting as she never had her own space, let alone an entire studio to herself. Technically, the Mentor found some use for it: bookmaking, paper production, ink and printing, architecture and modeling among other things. She rolled her eyes. Of course the old man would allow it if it benefits the Brotherhood since it would be the most convenient place for the Homesteaders. Tsipporah perked up at the idea.

"Holy shit, I'll be rich as fuck..." she thought out loud and quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment. Connor gave a small snort as he read over the ledger.

" _Language_ , girl. And as long as you keep the your business steady, that may come to pass. But your place is in the Brotherhood."

"Yes, master," she kept her eyes low. Connor sighed deeply at her obedience to the man at the root of her pain and was elbowed by her after.

"I'll get the tea started," he walked into the kitchen.

Once he left the two, the boy snapped.

"What was that for?" he gave her a sour look that was returned.

"Don't be an asshole," she leveled her voice, "He's the one training us and didn't want to in the first place and _now_ he's training us, so be _less_ of a dick, will you?"

"He is training us, but do you think he believes in what he is doing? It does not matter if we were chosen in his eyes—he's long since given up."

"You're still mad about the incident in Boston, aren't you? So am I, but I'm not taking it out on anyone but the practice dummy."

He swiftly stood tall to look down on her, only now she didn't shrink away. Tsipporah could look at Achilles and see hardship, but Ratohnhaké:ton only saw someone who gave up. The old man had filled their days with studying and intense training, yes, but also saw a cloud of impending doom looming over him. He thought this would be something that would fail, too. It made the girl wonder ever since he brought it up with ledger: what exactly happened to the Brotherhood?

"Do you know what happens out there while we are stuck here training and studying? My father and his men plan another foul scheme to slaughter more innocents. Boston was not the first and _certainly_ will not be the last." He tried not to raise his voice against her, "I will not let the next time be the occasion where he wins..."

His words echoed in her head for moment. It didn't force her back, but made her realize something—she never brought herself to ask how the fire in Kanatahséton started. She figured that asking would reopen old wounds, so she left it alone. She remembered the vivid dream of Ziio dying and crying out to her son, but there was nothing that lead to how that came to be.

"' _Not the first_ '," she echoed, "Like... Kanatahséton?"

A part of him hated when she did that—reading into whatever he says. He had hoped she would never ask, yet was puzzled if she cared about the fact that lives were on the line aside from hers and his. As she healed, she accepted that what happened in Boston was something they could not control; that they lost this fight and can stand to wait until next time. The manor needs work, there are other things to tend to, but waiting for more to be wiped out was something he couldn't put aside. She says that she worries, too? _She_ , who had both of her parents growing up and never worried about strangers taking her land?

"...Assist the old man if you are so concerned about him." He turned and only gave her his back, his attention back to the ledger. The girl sighed in frustration. She knew she hit a nerve and he'll make her suffer for it. She reached to touch his shoulder, but felt something... _someone_ was standing at the front door. The native hunter felt it as he steadied his breathing.

"To the basement— _both of you_ ," Achilles appeared from the kitchen, "We've got another lesson and I want you two prepared."

He gave them a knowing look and they both went to the basement. Connor hoped that fighting would get the unwanted heat off. A fire rage under his skin; he didn't want it taken out his companion, though he still wanted to get back at her for distracting him by almost kissing him—He rubbed his temple in annoyance. The very memory of that moment made him think of her in a _strange_ light that he thought was disrespectful. He snapped from his thoughts when he heard her gasp, looking up the stairs.

"Boss..." she walked back up the stairs and tugged the door, "He locked us in."

"You cannot be serious." She was. He pulled at the knob, finding it to be jammed. This succeeded in making him even more cranky. Then he sensed it: another person there besides the old man. The girl wanted to listen, but was pulled away by Connor. The voice out there certainly sounded familiar. The Irish accent was prominent.

* * *

"I know you're up to something, Achilles. Some girl was tailing the Grandmaster and another killed a mercenary he hired— _You_ had something to do with that!" A man of pale complexion, raven hair, and an attire of black and red lined with buckles confronted the Mentor. Not too happy about the recent residents that moved into the Homestead. He had kept quiet all afternoon, seeing if everything was still in ruins as he left it years ago. Then he saw them; the children who were at the massacre in Boston. The girl was well, though a bit slow, but the boy was still intact. It was no coincidence that they were there when the Templars were putting their plans into action that they were residing here. The very thought of the Brotherhood reviving made his blood boil.

"Such insolence and arrogance still," he shook his head as he drank his tea, "What good would it do you to come back? Haven't you accomplished your goal? The Brotherhood is no more. Now let me be."

"I warned you before—anyone who's with you is going to die by my hand or other means," he was a few feet away from Achilles, "I know those kids are working with you. Why all of sudden would you have the manor fixed? Or even the Aquila for that matter? I even saw those kids walking out in broad daylight here."

Tsipporah in the basement recognized that voice. It was the man that had her spared from the Grandmaster's wrath. Haytham would have undoubtedly kill her that time, but didn't. Connor listened attentively. Was it another Templar? He would deal with him personally if not for the damned door being locked. Kicking it wasn't an option for his comrade wasn't in any form for combat that might follow.

"Shay..." he spoke tiredly, "Even if what you say is true, what good would it do you? You have destroyed the Brotherhood of the Colonies. The Templars have won. As if I am in any condition for revival."

"I bet they're here now, is that it?" his eyes searched about with his sixth sense, "I had the girl spared before and killing the boy would be a mercy—"

His curled fist gave the secret basement door a firm punch. He knew someone had to be behind there. His sixth sense felt a few more bodies walking about, but they weren't sticking out. Upon looking at that familiar sconce-candle, he pulled it down, only to find it jammed. It had to be jammed. He knew there was a secret room in the house. He tried once more as the old man wordlessly watched him open the secret passage.

* * *

 **See you in the next chapter, guys! Thanks for following so far. :D**


	7. Chapter 6: Precognition

_"The most difficult thing in life is to know yourself."_

 _ **Thales**_

* * *

The apprentices' eyes were as wide as saucers, seeing that they were about to be discovered. Their minds were racing. It certainly sounded like an enemy—a Templar threatening the old man. Tsipporah couldn't fight with her injury and Connor was just a boy with not even a year into his training. How were they going to get out of this one? The man had Haytham spared her life once, she doubted he'll do it again. The boy wedged himself between the girl and the door, ready for what may come. He had hidden blades now. Surely he could take on whoever came at him. The girl wouldn't have it. It was bad enough that he could have died in Boston. She didn't want to see him hurt. She unconsciously gripped his sleeve. They had to get far away... If only they were far away...

"...I _will_ find them, Achilles," Shay opened the secret passage at last only to find no one in the basement. "Your followers will never be safe as long as they're with you."

"I have no 'followers', Shay. You killed them all, remember?" He sat down in the nearest chair. "A ridiculous stroke of luck for you to defeat them all..."

"I make my own luck," he kept his eyes on Achilles until he reached the door, "Hopefully, I don't have to come back here and finish you myself."

He slammed the door shut. The old Mentor waited approximately fifteen minutes before seeing to his apprentices. He wasn't sure how they did it, but they were gone. There was no trace of them anywhere. A look of realization came over him.

"Well, I'll be damned," he tapped his cane, seeing fractals of light dissipating, "The girl did it at last."

* * *

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

"Kanen'tó:kon...?"

"Ms. Moose?"

"Skawennahawi?"

Trees towered over them as a cool lighting bathed over the scenery. The boy easily recognized the area, spotting his childhood friend. Though, the entire affair was just plain confusing.

"(How did you get here)?" Kanen'tó:kon approached them with Almoose looking just as confused, "(There was a flash of light and then you were here)."

"( I-I do not know)..." he was at a complete loss.

"Um... I think I can answer that..." the adolescent looked at her hands that emitted the slightest bit of fractals into the air. "(I think I used some kind of power... um)... teleportation." It's the only result she could think of. Emotions were high and she was desperate. She thought of the one place where it all started—the meeting, the questions, and the start of a journey. Or perhaps it was the boy's thoughts that determined where they'd be.

"'Teleportation'?" he questioned.

"Or tele-transportation. It's ' _the theoretical transfer of matter or energy from one point to another without traversing the physical space between them_ ', by definition." She thought aloud, "I'm pretty sure that's what happened."

"Whatever _this_ is, you should come into the village," Alsoomse pointed in its direction, "It is getting late and traveling back would be ill-advised."

"(No, wait)!" she remembered, "Achilles is still back there with an intruder!"

"It sounded as though the intruder was looking for us," the native hunter assured, "If he was going to harm the old man, he would have done it once he came in the manor."

"Huh..." she faced away from him, "Okay, point taken. And it looks like I have superpower now, so..." She tried to see how she even achieved it the first time. Maybe she could take them back. She was stressed out, wanted to get away, was high on adrenaline... _Nothing_. Just nothing. The girl huffed at the debacle. She shrugged her shoulders, supposing that they were going to have to go to the village after all. It would be all too easy to try a miracle again and still be just as lucky. "Okay, so that was a bust. I'm coming."

Ratonhnhaké:ton wordlessly picked her up and kept silent the whole way. She could feel the heat coming off of his chest. He's still upset. Normally, she'd still try to protest against this whole lugging her around, but it was better not to argue about anything at this point. Their native friends must have sensed the tension between them for Alsoomse chose this as a rare moment to not poke fun at her "little brother". Once they got past the wooden walls of Kanatahséton, its people lifted their eyes to their golden boy, immediately walking in his direction. Some members eagerly cheered for his return while others kept their respective boundaries. Tsipporah let herself out of her comrade's arms with all the villagers crowding him the way they did. Backing away, she laughed jovially at the sight; they must have really missed him. It has been more than six months.

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton, you have returned)!" "(You have grown strong, yes)?" "(You seem different since we last saw you)." "(Peace, Ratonhnhaké:ton)."

"(Ratonhnhaké:ton)..." a leveled voice managed to pierce through the majority. The sea of natives parted as the elderly woman made her way to the group of the adolescents that recently entered. "(You have returned)."

"(By accident)," he explained, "(My companion used a power both of us did not know of)."

"(Then it must not have been an accident. It was only there all along and only now you have realized it)," her staff gestured to a longhouse, "(Come. The Medicine woman knew you would be here. I wish to speak with you)."

"(Why? What has happened)?" Tsipporah asked. The Clan Mother paused, pleased that the child was speaking their language. It was no mystery how that came to be.

"(There are matters to speak of with _him_. Speak, eat, rest—you are no stranger to this place)." She went inside the longhouse and her relative followed. His head turned to his companion for some time before disappearing into the shade of their home.

The girl looked towards her other native companions as they sat and ate some of the harvest from storage. The two sat there speaking as if the frost was nonexistent. No fire burned except their conversation. She thought of joining them, but they looked more comfortable with just themselves. A sigh escaped her nostrils and lifted into the air. Guess she'd be left to her own devices.

She still had her attention to the two natives, thinking she looks like a creep at this point.

' _Christ, you wuss. Just talk to them! No... they look like they're having a grand old time—they look like a couple_ ,' she thought, ' _Ms. Moose'll slit my throat in my sleep if she ever heard me say that. ..._ Fuck, it _. I'm gonna say it_.'

Before she let out a boisterous yell, a few small able-bodies looked up at her, curiously. They were clad in furs and animal skins adorned in some feathers as well. Their round faces nearly inspired the girl to pinch them. One of them walked closer with his silky hair bouncing in each step. He did so in a brave fashion as if he took on a dare as his friends watched.

"(Can I help you)?" she lifted a brow.

"(I am Kaientaronkwen)." he had his hands on his hips. "(Do you want to play with us, Skawennahawi)?"

"(Huh... play where? In the forest)?" he nodded vigorously. "(I have an injury; I cannot play anything)."

"(Aww... it's just hide and seek)," he prodded, "(What, are you afraid you'll lose)?"

" _Ugh,_ fu— (One game, boy)."

At least the game would give her reason to test out if the ability she has can be controlled. She should rest, but something didn't sit right with her about kids going out by themselves. Past the valley was a town belonging to colonists. Some poachers or merciless hunters would come out of there. If they ever found their way near the village—Tsipporah didn't want to even think it. Better they were monitored. Even on the way, they spoke of pale men that can shoot fire from their hands like a scary story told around the fire. She called out to Alsoomse and Kanen'tó:kon when they reached the wooded border of the village that they will return soon. As if she'd let the kids stay out when the sun was setting in an hour.

* * *

The courtyard blanketed in snow yielded no difficulty for movement. In fact, she preferred the cold. She wasn't too fond of the sweat on her brow during the summer and certainly not the rushing winds of fall. Though the frost would cause her blade to be cemented into her sheath; nearly impossible to for it to draw. Little did it matter in the end, since she found a way for such an event to be seldom. It was a hilarity for her enemies to suffer from this state. While they had a weapon in hand, she could move in for the kill. To kill the lesser beings, to kill any traitors, to kill any mangy dog that sank lower than her heel—lower than dirt.

To think that the Assassins would stand a chance. That, too, mattered little for they have been dealt with long ago by their own. She had told Shay countless times how she longed to clash blades with a worthy opponent. He would often tease that one day they'll spar.

No.

No, not "sparring". _Killing_.

She did not sharpen her blade to be used as a toy. She studied anatomy to find the weak point in the useless pounds of flesh that made up her opponent. Adjusting her gloves, left leg went back, right leg front, and both were slightly bent. A left forearm went to her back in a perfect form as she squared her shoulders. Her trusty sword—a spadroon of the British military, custom made in a balanced weight—was held out as she vividly pictured the one she allowed to live. _For now_.

En garde.

Advance.

Retreat.

Advance. _Advance_.

 _Lunge_.

One strike.

Two strikes.

Diagonal strikes. Stab through the heart.

"Not good enough..." she glared at the practice dummy she laid waste to. Her pulse and breathing remained steady. She would have to put her practice gear away before her father returned. Although he was proud of his affiliations, he was not aware of her fighting within them. She couldn't describe the feeling of why she couldn't tell her father any of this. The strange bruises, the graze scars, the cuts on her hands among other things. He never wished for her to take up a sword, but the thrill... the way a spadroon felt in the grip of her hand, the fear in her victim's eyes as they felt the quick blow of a musket ball and the kickback riling her up for more...

The door to the courtyard opened.

Thankfully, everything was hidden away. She straightened her dress to be presentable in greeting her visitor. Or not.

"Don't worry, lass. It's just me." A smooth voice laced with a Scottish accent greeted her. She should have kept her sword out, especially for this. She lifted her chin and turned away. "Hello? Aren't you going to curtsy? Speak? Don't be a stranger, Ellie, dear."

"Do not speak to me as if we are friends, you lowly whore."

" _Really_ , dear?" she scoffed, "You can try better than that. Besides, I have some information for you." That's what she was useful for, anyway. She was always out and about in that skimpy green dress, selling herself to the highest bidder. At some point, she managed to reach the highest of the high. The brunette looked her way in interest. The woman sat comfortably on a nearby bench, playing a smile on her rosy lips. She taunted with a gesture of her hand. "Not even going to say please? Thank you?"

"What is it?" the girl demanded. The woman crossed her legs.

"For a price, _Ellie_." The woman's "affection" colored in that nickname almost made the girl want to vomit.

" ** _Ms. Davenport_** ," she corrected as she walked closer, "Use my proper name for once, street rat."

"Mmm..." she hummed as she twirled her finger in the girl's lock of hair, "That's not what you called me last night."

"Last night was your pleasure; mine was for business," she slapped her hand away, "Nothing more. **Now**."

"Alright, you bonnie lass," she licked her lips and gave the girl space. "That boy and girl you described are nowhere to be found in Boston or any other town in the colonies. People in Boston are up in arms after the little pig slaughter on King Street. The troops had to be pulled out of the city, but it will be for a time. The Tea Act is still on—that's for sure. The people are calling it an act of war."

"Good," she stated, "So it's going according to plan. The people are outraged."

"So..." the woman glared, waiting for her bag of coins. The brunette reached for her pocket, but the woman beat her to it. She traced her nails lightly at the curve of her hip slowly. Watching the girl fidget from that action made it worth while. She tried to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks, blaming the freezing cold. The woman's voice became sultry as her eyes never left the girl's. "I could warm you up again. Pretty fit and limber for a young lass like you, I reckon mixing business and pleasure won't be so bad. People should have more fun at work, eh?"

"I do what is necessary to survive and prevail..." she breathed carefully, "Now leave before my father sees you."

"Oh, but he's already seen me like you've seen me," she tugged the girl in her arms, pressing her bosom firmly against hers. For once, the girl was caught off guard. The woman's lips were expertly hovering over hers, making her wither in her sudden heat. "Ellie, dear... _Do you want a kiss_?"

She managed to shimmy her way out of her grasp, glaring in frustration. She firmly asked her to leave.

"Do not return unless you have something... _worth_ sharing," she huffed. _God_ , how she hated that red-headed bimbo.

"You're trying too hard, my dear," she climbed up to the roof with ease, "I always have something _worth sharing_. Hope you catch your target."

"If you ever see that filth, report to me. See to every detail, Gillian."

She nodded, briskly jumping away into oblivion. The girl steadied her breath. She needs the dummy to torture again to expel this new heat rising in her.

* * *

Clan Mother brought the native hunter up to speed. So far since he left, the local colonists' property, John's Town, expanded just as the boy feared. Sometimes the hunters from that town would venture into the valley. There was one instance where animals were hunted and killed but were left to rot on their land. The Iroquois discussed these matters with William Johnson—the Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Ratonhnhaké:ton was already bothered by today and the day kept getting longer. He sat up at the mention of _William Johnson_.

"(How can we side with such a man)?" he tried to control himself, "(That man will only see us destroyed, Clan Mother)."

"(With the Treaty of Fort Stanwix and the sanctuary at stake, we cannot move against him. Fighting is not an option, Ratonhnhaké:ton)."

"(...This will not stand for long. I will make sure it doesn't)."

"(Still, you sound just like your mother when it comes to these matters. But know that should you attempt any action, serious problems will arise)."

Unfortunately, they were at a standstill. This also meant that the boy couldn't move against the Templar in control of that town. If destruction and flames do not swallow their livelihood, surely, the land development will. He ran his hand through his hair.

"(These are matters of our people, yet you were freed from this place)," she switched topics to drain the air of tension, "(How fares your training)?"

He didn't tell too much of the secrets of the Brotherhood—only the severity of the training, the obstacles, and what he has gained in knowledge. Physical training had been filling long hours of the day. The mentor was merciless in execution, sparing no minute for rest until techniques were done correctly. Many of the lessons by the old man were emphasized with spare details by the girl during their studies. She respected his sp e, but was still eager for him to learn more on certain subjects, people, and places. Even of her recent injury that resulted after she protected him—a result that he blamed himself for, but refused to mention that detail. Clan Mother nodded in understanding as she placed more wood into the roaring fire.

"(It sounds like you are adjusting to your new surroundings well, yet you seem to fear this girl with whom you share a destiny with)."

"(I am not afraid of my own friend, Clan Mother)," he said, puzzled at her words, "(What do you)..."

"(It was clear when you both came into the village: you were upset and she thought she had offended you in some way. Yet instead of an apology, you prefer her silence. I know you, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You now feel responsible for her wounds and scars as you do with many, but you do not want her to bear yours)."

No, he didn't. She was brought here by his own mother. As strange as the girl was, she worried for him, went forward with him, and believed in him. There were many things she probably refused to divulge as well, so she never pressed into sensitive matters if it would trouble him. Both had no desire to dawdle on subjects too personal to explain. For some reason, he recalled in Boston when her wound was critically bleeding that telling her to live made her cry. Those days of harsh training, even as they met and was thrown into the ground by a bear, she never wept at all. Not even that serious injury. He couldn't explain the pain that seared in his chest when he saw her that way—there was no way to describe it. It brought up a pain he thought he had moved on from, but would never forget.

He exhaled deeply. Perhaps he'll speak to her.

"(I will speak with her then)," he declared, "(I may have gotten her even more worried)."

"(' _May have_ ')?" she tapped her staff on the ground.

"(I _have_ gotten her more worried)," he promptly corrected. "(And we must return to the Homestead. Our... mentor would not be pleased by our absence)."

"(You can stay for the night if you wish)," she patted his shoulder as she walked around, "(This is still your home, Ratonhnhaké:ton)."

The boy would have smiled at that, but he knew what he had to do. He can't let things stay awkward with his companion; not after what they've been through. He gave the Clan Mother an acknowledging nod before exiting the longhouse. The sun had just set. It was going to be darker before the next hour. The further he walked the more he realized that his childhood friends were absent. The children and Tsipporah, too.

He instinctively went to the wall boarded around the perimeter. Looking out with a third eye, he saw that one of his friends with the rest of the village children were coming back—obviously racing against the sun.

"(Kanen'tó:kon! What has happened)?" he met up with his friend who was almost out of breath and crying children followed behind him.

"(It was awful)!" "(I do not want to go in the woods again)!" "(My arm hurts)..." "(Ratonhnhaké:ton! You have to help)!"

Their voices overlapped in panic and they were covered in scrapes and bruises. His friend was not spared of this either. He still gripped a hunting knife in his trembling hand.

"(The children)..." he huffed, "They were playing in woods... a group of hunters found them and... one of them is captured... A-Alsoomse and Skawennahawi went to pursue them)..."

"(I will follow them, my friend)," he promised, "(Make sure everyone is tended to)." Kanen'tó:kon was tired but determined. He had the children enter the village first, nodded to the native hunter, and followed suit.

Now his allies were in danger. Hunters—most likely poachers, mercenaries, and bandits. He readied his hunting gear and headed out into the oncoming darkness. Maneuvering through the branches and trees held no real challenge. It was still cold, though. Tsipporah's wound won't be bothered. Still, it was reckless to go after a group of hoodlums when she clearly wasn't in the right state to do so. He almost accused her of being reckless, when really, he recalled that he would probably do the same. It made him crack a smile. Just what kind of influence does he have on his friends? Alsoomse with her feisty approach in life, Kanen'tó:kon excelling in hunting, and Tsipporah adopting his headstrong recklessness. _Oh, dear_...

After the short cut through the cliffs, he made it down to John's Town in the cover of near perpetual darkness, save for the lamps outside of people's home. The travel alone was bizarre. The boy thought he would have run into opposition at some point, but none came up. He scanned with his Eagle Vision, finally, and found a group of men in the back holding a small figure while the roof across from his held a person within his view. The figure jerked their head as if to be certain of what they were looking at and soon made a jump to the roof the boy was on.

"Alsoomse," he whispered, "Where is Tsipporah?"

"Down there," her weapon pointed to the shadow sliding between houses to get to the backyard. "She cannot climb, but she can still shoot. She took a gun from one of those men in the woods."

"Alsoomse, she cannot fight; she is injured."

"That never stopped you _or_ me," she argued, "Come, we are waiting for the men to leave the house."

The two dropped down to make way to the house ahead as soon as Tsipporah mimicked the sound of an owl. Though, she wasn't the least bit surprised that the native hunter arrived. Loading the flintlock with haste, she nodded to her companions, but only Alsoomse responded in kind. The boy had other plans. He grabbed her wrist that held the loaded pistol and scolded her as they hid in the dark corners.

"Whatever you are going to do, do not do it," he warned, "You are still healing and still you insist on doing this?"

"What?" she gave a scolding look, "The shot was to distract them. Alsoomse was going to get Kaientaronkwen and then we skip this town."

The boy clenched his jaw at her answer. She almost laughed at his response.

"Did you think I was going to forget my training and go in guns blazing or something, boss?" she gave a mocking smile as he still held her wrist, "Why would I—"

"Let us save the child first, alright? We will speak later."

Alsoomse rolled her eyes at the whole thing. The girl wasn't entirely sure what to make of the latter of what the boy said but shrugged. The gun was shot and its sound rang throughout the block. Residents tensed up in their homes. Faint scampering on wood was heard all through the town. The dogs wandering the town started to bark loudly. That's when the men inside the targeted house made their way outside from the front, giving the three an opening. Ratonhnhaké:ton made sure no one else but the native child was presently in the house. Once the coast was clear, he pulled out the tools to pick the back door lock and succeeded. The girl wrinkled her nose at how calm the boy was about wandering this place.

"You seem oddly knowledgeable of your surroundings here..."

"I have been here once or twice to scout the area."

"Wha..." she was at a loss, "Aren't you the trouble-maker~?"

"You misjudge—I merely scouted, nothing more." He pushed the door and heard soft crying as he came in. A small face looked up in their direction.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton?" the poor boy was hog-tied, lying on his stomach. "(Hurry, before the pale men of fire return)!"

He quickly freed the boy from the bonds, pushing at his back to have him go with haste. The native hunter took the child's hand in his as they went out how they came. They would have to navigate through the darkness enough before taking up a torch. Tsipporah waited until they were outside of the town before pulling out a match to light a lantern that no one in the town was sure to miss. The way ahead was clear until the apprentice felt his ear pick up the sound of several feet gaining speed. No... No, it wasn't _feet_.

"Take him and hide somewhere, Tsipporah," her boss commanded.

"They found us already?" she swore under her breath, taking the child with her to hide in a pile of forest debris. Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded to the independent native to hide somewhere in the shadows as well as he lowered himself in the tall stems that stuck out from the snow. Alsoomse resorted to hiding in the high branches as a start. The girl only wished she had brought her bow and arrow, then they could really have a party. The adolescents waited until the men galloped on their horses on the dirt path and torches out in full view. The mercenary in front turned his horse in a circle, searching for any movement. Before they had gotten too close, she signaled to the others. "Stay there, guys, I got an idea..."

" _Arse_ ," he spat, "They couldn't have gone far, but knowing those savages, they must have bein' the feckin' animals they are. Come on men! Search high and low! Leave no stone un-turned!"

They all got off their horses to look more attentively. It was perfectly quiet in the area after awhile, so the leader felt safe enough to dismount. The girl's smile could break her face if it stretched even more. She patted for the boy to stay put as she left the security of the debris to wander, dodging the light of the torches. Keeping low to the ground, she made sure the horses were the only ones that saw her. With darkness on her side, she used all of her arm strength to slap the rear of a few horses and frighten the next set, silently apologizing for the treatment in that moment. The men only saw their horses fidgeting and running from a ghost; neighing and prancing to nowhere in particular. Some of the men were nearly trampled. The girl retreated to the debris as quickly as she could before the next phase came: the assault.

The men were on edge now. They waved their torches around frantically with their faces getting paler by the second. The leader spoke up.

"It's just the natives, you feckin' idiots!"

"But what if it's the spirits they pray and dance to?!" "We're gonna die here, aren't we?!" "Where are you, you stupid savages!"

One of them shot at nothing in one direction and the leader was losing his nerve.

"I'm not afraid of some spirit, and certainly no savage!" he yelled fearfully, "Come out you little shits! I'll burn every last one of you!"

"Screw that, boss, I mean, what do they even want?! They already took the brat!"

A shift in the snow caught one's attention and he looked at him.

"I want your blood..." the eyes of Alsoomse glared from above so fiercely that the man soiled himself, backing away as she landed swiftly behind him, menacingly close, "Shh..." as she cut open his throat.

The men loaded their bayonets and waited for movement, but the waiting was agonizing as one of them was already on the ground soaking the snow with blood. Some of them wandered to see where the girl went, but one wandered too close to a bush and was never seen again after that. The men were so fearful that Tsipporah took the opportunity to take the boy home. As long as they weren't making too much noise. She got out of the debris and the child followed. They hid behind trees every so often, but their luck didn't last for long. The girl bit her lip as she felt her back tense up. Lightly patting her shoulder, she brought her hand back and saw that there were small traces of blood on her fingertips.

She gripped the boy's hand that they had to move right away. Only to be met with a torchlight.

"Gotcha, you little, shit-skins," the leader pointed his bayonet at the girl while another targeted the child. Tsipporah sighed at the sight. "Give up. We got you surrounded."

"No," she shook her head and looked to the four men left, "Actually... _we've_ got you surrounded."

"'We'?" the henchmen asked before feeling a cold stone rush to his chest, bashing it open from nowhere. The other men back away slowly.

"Yes, 'we'. You might want to leave. They're not too fond of trespassers."

"Who are 'they'?"

"Do you _really_ want to know?" she asked coolly as another one was met with an arrow to the rib. That was it. The leader readied his gun to run the insolent girl through but was met with his own end. Blood sputtered from his mouth from the surprise as he slowly turned his head, revealing a long hunting knife. The last henchman was scared beyond belief and the girl approached him nonchalantly. "Go back home. None of this happened. If you speak of this to anyone, _I will be the last face you see~_ "

She really wanted to laugh at how scared he was, nodding furiously and taking off back to the town. It was better this way that it was her and that the others hid. Those men would've connected it all to the natives and have them targeted. As headstrong as the boss was, she was glad that he stayed hidden, otherwise, this would've taken a different turn and all the men would have to die. A slight difference.

The child squeezed her hand still and said nothing. Tsipporah held him close for reassurance. When the two native hunters finally came out of hiding, they headed out back to the village in perpetual darkness in complete silence.

* * *

The people of Kanatahséton were relieved to see the young ones safe. The other children swarmed the boy who was also glad to see the others were not in bad shape. His parents picked him off the ground, embracing him and thanking the adolescents for saving him.

" _Niawen'kó:wa_..." his mother said to the young warriors, still wiping her tears. The boy had been holding onto his parents for dear life. He was quiet for the whole journey back.

"(Glad to be of service)," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, then turned to his companion. She's been touching her shoulder a lot for the whole trip. No doubt her wound reopened. Of course, that happened; as if she would sit still for the stitches to set in. "(You should have rested. Why would you go out into the forest to play, _hm_ )?"

" _Ha ha_..." a good excuse failed to come to mind, "Well, you see what had happened was—" The boy ran up to her, pulling her skirts.

"(Can we play hide and seek next time)?" his large eyes pleaded. "(Please)?"

"Aww... Kaientaronkwen," she hugged him tightly, but her boss glared at her, daring her to answer "yes". "(Uh, when I get better, okay)?"

"(Okay)..." he walked away but waved back.

"Ó:nen, " she turned her attention back to her boss again, " _Okay_ , I'll rest. I'll get patched up and lie down."

"Good. Because I need to speak to you—in private."

 **Wait.** What? ... _Why_?

She furrowed her brows and looked at him suspiciously, hoping it wasn't what she thought it was.

 _Was it a love confession?_

Please don't.

 _No_. _NOPE._

 **Just no.**

He must have read her mind because he followed it with:

"No, it is not what you think it is," part of him desired it, but being an apprentice for a greater purpose required some personal sacrifices. "Just meet me here when you are done tending to your wound."

Tsipporah hadn't said much to him all afternoon, but now she felt virtually speechless. Forget her back, her chest was caving in and it wasn't the fault of the front stitching. She briskly walked to the Medicine Woman without his aid. He did say that it wasn't what she thought it was. If not that, then it was something still personal to him. He was probably going to bring up a crucial detail of his past—something Kanen'tó:kon, Alsoomse, and Clan Mother knew already that she was going to be let in on. The suddenly the air felt thicker. Why she was still nervous to hear what he had to say, she had no clue.

* * *

Everyone readied themselves for sleep as it was a long day.

The bruises weren't too bad, but she's thankful for her sharp intuition or this would have ended much worse. She thought about walking back to her wigwam at night; she didn't care much for wolves. Not even two miles away from the village and she heard the cries of children. She made a mad dash to the village and brought Kanen'tó:kon with her to investigate. Much to their horror, the children were held at gunpoint as well as Tsipporah. She couldn't risk the lives of young ones and made no sudden movements. There were seven of them—mercenaries, all of them. They pushed and shoved the little ones aside, taking one as a trophy. The girl warned that they wouldn't get away with this. The leader of them laughed and spat at her face. The girl clenched her jaw when her back was hit by the butt of a bayonet. Surely, some stitches were disturbed from that. Both native hunters joined in, attacking some men from behind, but intended to use the child as a shield, thus they got away. That did not last long.

"This is hardly a scratch, Alsoomse," Kanen'tó:kon argued, looking at a cut that stretched the length of his forearm on his side. The other rolled her eyes.

"It's not even fatal enough to have stitches. You will be fine, see?" she finished soothing his injuries, but didn't bother with her own. She was used to getting into scrapes like this.

"Are you not going to treat your wounds as well?"

"These are not wounds; I have told you."

"They can still fester."

" _Leave it_."

This went on until she let him win just this once. He gladly went in to soothe her wounds with some crushed sage and dogwood, rubbing it onto her bruises. The boy was really careful— _too_ careful for her liking. He made sure that no wound or bruise was missed. She raised her fist when he checked a bit too close for comfort and respectfully backed away. Funny how he would stay around her despite her aggression. Perhaps for a similar reason of why he has Ratonhnhaké:ton for a friend.

* * *

Lights danced across the dark depths of the sky, lowering the chill of winter. Such did not bother the native hunter. This was his home; his environment. A natural ember burned inside him to keep him warm. That same ember kept him restless as he waited for his companion to meet him there. Grass and dirt were eventually uncovered by the pacing he'd done. After some moments pass, he decided to practice his basic fighting forms he was taught on an unused wooden post. Snow blew in a dust cloud with each palm strike.

Knee strike.

 _Kick_.

Duck and roll—

"You're winning, I hope," a feminine voice came closer.

"Of course I was," as if he was stating the obvious and the girl laughed.

"Okay, boss, but anyone can win on a wooden post," she breathed a cloud of frost as she snuggled in the bundle of furs she was handed earlier. "You said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes..." he sighed nervously, which was a first for Tsipporah. She's never seen him hesitant to do anything. He looked to the ground before raising his head to her again. "I should have told you before why it is that I desire to hunt the Templars."

Now that she thought about it, he never did. Did he? It was obvious that he wanted to protect his village and its people, isn't that it? She assumed it was because of his father and some misplaced sentiment. His wordless daydreaming during study sessions spoke volumes of how he knew what had to be done, yet he seemed so deep in thought of the circumstances. A trivial problem that he'll sort out before the night was over type-of-thing. She never spoke of it because getting too personal would soil whatever resolution he already had.

"I..." she bit her tongue to listen, "Why, boss?"

" _Charles Lee..._ " he couldn't help but say the name bitterly, "He and the other men on our wall were there when the village burned. Lee was the one leading them. He threatened and attacked me, and I promised to find him. I knew if I trained as an Assassin, these men would be my targets. Even still, I've known for a long time that they would return to do more than just harming my people as they did before. I could not wait for our end. _I will not_."

The girl stood there in the cold, taking in more of the heat of his anger in his words so that the weather was irrelevant. With how he went about his story, she feared it was for vengeance at first, but the more she listened, the more she realized that achieving justice is what he sought after. He was no fool. Neither was his people. Those men would come again as the spirit warned. John's Town already proved to be a sleeping beast waiting to swallow the village whole as soon as winter ended. Her life was complicated, but never to such an extent of something close to tragedy. His suffering sat at the pit of his stomach. Of course, he would readily go after the Templars even if it was reckless—he experienced first hand what they were capable of. It wasn't just in Boston. She felt stupid for not even considering the connection to his aggressive approach to fighting Templars. She had the same vivid dream of this— _How could she be so stupid_? She came closer in a careful stride.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

"Please, do not pity me..." he commanded, "I've told you why, so please—"

"No, not that. I mean, I should have considered how hard it must have been to sit still while they throw people's lives away like the way they do. I mean, if we're talking about the village getting destroyed when you were a child... The French and Indian War. Achilles said that they back the British and the British took out natives that helped the French at the time. It was just a tactical advantage to them, but it was also your life that they ruined."

The more she thought of how dispassionate the Templars were about human lives, the more depressing she saw their end goal. She knew from what she was taught in civics class that Europeans thought nothing much of the natives and cleared them one by one as they saw fit, even enslaved them. She wondered how such a thing flew over her head.

"I should have thought about that before... _I'm sorry._ " He waved off her apology. It was not needed.

"You have worried about me often and I thought I had no need of it—I have been pitied enough. I am not a child anymore."

"Yes, you are~" an attitude with wit took over, "You're a teenager. You're like your people's _baby_ and they love you like one. And that won't change."

"A _man_ ," he corrected.

"A _man-child_ , then," she added. "... A ' _mild_ '?" He barked a loud laugh that would have woken the animals out of hibernation, so he stopped himself. The smile was certainly contagious.

"And there goes the shit-eating-grin that is destined to ruin my life." She patted his shoulder, glad that he released some nervous tension; telling her all of this must not have been easy. "I'm glad you told me; I didn't want to assume anything about you and what happened a long time ago. I thought... you still didn't trust me."

"I _do_ trust you," she gasped as he almost closed the space between them as he pressed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You have always made sure that there was something new learned in every study, that I filled my belly with food, fought alongside me; and even risked your life without a second thought to defend me... You deserve more than my thanks alone."

And he pulled her into his arms. Strands of his silky hair brushed against her cheek. She timidly wrapped her arms around him and he sighed deeply in response. It would have been rude to try to break away, but the girl saw that she couldn't. The air was still cold and fresh bits of snow fell from the starlit sky. He nuzzled into her neck and the girl shivered with her body inviting his warmth, withering in his strong embrace. It scared her a little, how long they held each other. She wanted to stay like this with him, untroubled by the world.

No, she couldn't.

She would have broken out of it efficiently if not for the wound or his strength, but now they were closely gazing at each other. Somehow in the darkness, she could see how honeyed his brown eyes were. It was taking her breath away. He felt his heart beat out of his chest with how close she was and he had this sudden desire to bring her closer than humanly possible.

" _Ratonhnhaké:ton_..." she said below a whisper, "We-we should go inside before we get sick..." She had to say something before she fell into something close to a trance. Her eyes glazed over in a fantastical fog as her chest got hotter. Her mind went in circles of how all of this shouldn't be happening, that he was just some boy, but her rational arguments were shot down mercilessly by his smile, his kindness, his warm embrace—His hand found a way to her nape and she went stiff as their foreheads and noses touched for that moment. Really, she began to ask herself what she did to inspire this.

"Then we should go," he said innocently as he broke the contact as he took her hand in his, leading her back to the longhouse.

Tsipporah was feeling a bit numb now—from the cold or _him_ , she couldn't tell. She prayed that the universe would make her sneeze to break up this whole scene. A rabies-driven animal? _A templar_? Something had to happen. Honestly, she has never been more motivated to run away than she was right now. The heat of the bonfire reached them as soon as they got past the doorway. Everyone was sleeping soundly with their families. The girl almost snorted loudly when she saw Alsoomse sleeping peacefully near Kanen'tó:kon with their hands laced together.

The bedding was certainly intriguing. They were built like bunk-beds of animal skins and some closed baskets of food sat atop some of them alongside the walls. The adolescents took to their beds as the fatigue was really coming down on them. Part of the girl wanted the night to go on, but on the other hand, there was still the world out there that would take all of this away. She had a life and family before all of this, albeit more than imperfect. It puzzled her why she was even having these thoughts _now_. "She belonged to the future", "She can't just stay here forever"—where were these thoughts when she woke up in the middle of the forest months ago?

"Sleep well, Tsipporah," he kept his voice low, "We must leave at first light."

"Um... okay..." he still had her hand in his but let it go as he slipped into bed in front of hers. "First light... got it, boss."

"Are you alright?"

"Just tired from all of the excitement..." she lied, "Just wanna be a rock and lie down." She dramatically plopped herself down into the rather comfy animal furs and skins, closing her eyes. "G'night..."

He failed to resist the urge to pass his callous hand through her soft, curly locks. She moaned softly at the caress her scalp was getting.

" _Kwah tokén:'en sén:ta'wh_ ," he said affectionately before falling asleep.

* * *

They left the next morning with the Medicine Woman sparing some herbs since they had to take the long way to the Homestead. Not much hunting was done as the animals were still resting from the frost. Spring was only due in a few weeks, yet much of the frost remained. It almost irked the girl still. Being born from the south, the concept of snow in the winter was foreign to her. Seasons dramatically changing took some adjusting, especially in its natural beauty of it all. Once the Homestead came into view, a familiar face sat out on the porch in a rocking chair.

Achilles wasted no time getting them back to training. When they asked who the intruder was and if he knew him, they were told that he wouldn't reopen old wounds. He wasn't ready to tell them of sensitive subjects yet, they'll have to respect that, but their lives were also in danger. It did not surprise Tsipporah at all. They had good intentions for the world and the Creed they took to heart—no matter how small the threat is, the Templars will crush them without a second thought. However, they were far from being assassins yet. The girl was left to read the many volumes the house contained while Connor would resume both physical and mental lessons required. Tsipporah noticed that he was gaining muscle mass little by little every time he came by so that they'd study together. The time away from each other didn't bother either of them, but they've been together long enough that it would be strange to not see each other.

After a few months, the summer sun warmed the evergreen landscape. The adolescent felt her hand against the soft hairs of a horse she had recently groomed and thanked her for it. She was about to pull an apple from her tote bag, turning back to the horse when a sudden dark fabric veiled her eyes and was quickly tied around the back of her head. A few seconds of panic was setting in until she heard familiar sniggering from a pair of impossible men.

"Godfrey... Terry... What the hell are you doing?"

"Just trust us, lass!" Godfrey patted her back to go forward.

"The lad has a surprise for you," Terry added.

Nervous giggles replaced her panic. They wanted it to be a surprise, but the girl had already been through this blindfold training where she and Connor had to play by ear. Interesting lesson even though she ran into a lot more trees than she remembered. Going hunting blind for the whole week was rather... _unique_.

Judging by the terrain, they were leading her on the path to the shoreline. She could hear the water ahead as they went up a hill. Then they stopped.

"Keep your eyes closed, lass."

"Then what was the blindfold for?" she teased.

"Alright... now look."

She opened her eyes, wondering what they got her worked up for... but the sight turned her blood cold. Colder than whoever's blood stained the hilltop.

Her eyes frantically searched. There were only civilians living on the Homestead, so who's blood was this? She saw that it trailed off of the hill. Whoever suffered this fate probably was amputated to lose this much blood only for the body to be dragged and thrown over the edge. The girl neared the edge, trying to remain calm. She hoped it was just some bandit or a poacher or...

There were pieces of ripped brown cloth and more blood scrambling down the hill. One hanging branch was close enough that she could inspect it. Taking it in her hand, she saw it better. It was animal skin. The only people she knew too well who wore this... No. Ms. Moose always dyed her animals skins with blue during the summer. That left two that she hoped were alright. Possibly not, though.

"Godfrey, Terry, what the fuck is this?!" she turned to confront them. They led her here like they were presenting a gift and they brought her to this murder scene.

There was no Godfrey or Terry.

Only Connor.

Or rather... _just his head_.

"You weren't too difficult to find," a familiar, sinister voice spoke, "He was native after all as you are... much lower. His and your kind always return to the dirt. He returned much sooner than expected, I'm afraid."

It was her. The Red Coat from Boston that night...

"I hope you appreciate my artistry," the petite girl sneered, "You are going to be a part of it, too."

With that, she threw the decapitated head into the girl's arms and went in for the kill—

* * *

 **"Tsipporah!"** a welcoming voice tried to soothe her afterward, "It is alright..."

Her breathing became ragged in the winter air. She instantly tried to get to her feet, but toppled over in the process, feeling for her neck, her chest, her pulse—her heart was not run through. Everything was still intact.

Intact...

She turned to her side seeing Ratonhnhaké:ton in one piece but wore an expression of deep concern. Her eyes searched around but noticed something. They were near a roaring fire with wooden structures holding up animal skins for a mattress with food storages on top and the natives at the bottom bunk. They were fully awake, looking cautious and concerned. A few children hid behind adults, confused and scared. The girl started to wonder in confusion as well while she took deep breaths. It was still dark outside, it seemed. They haven't left the village.

"You were screaming in your sleep," he said. She had nothing to say to that. No witty remark, no joke to make; only a quivering lip and a restrained cry.

She had nothing to say to that. No witty remark, no joke to make; only a quivering lip and a restrained cry as she looked at him, stupefied.

He was alive. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare... _but it was too real_.

"Oh my god!" she threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. "I thought you were dead! I saw you... I saw you—"

"Wakata'karí:te," he assured and brought her in for a full hug. Clan Mother approached them.

"(The girl is in need of a dream catcher)," she took note of the girl's wailing, and others carefully approached. "(If not, she will be tormented by these dreams for some time)."

"(Clan Mother, allow me to help)," a woman stood from her bed after calming her child. The girl saw it was the mother of the boy they saved.

"(Take her aside)," the elder requested. The native boy was too concerned to let her go, but he couldn't argue with the Clan Mother. She then pulled him aside, while another pacified his companion. The girl's words didn't go over her head completely, but she wanted to confirm. "(Ratonhnhaké:ton, what did she tell you)?"

He paused at her question. "(She... thought I was dead)."

"(Hmm)..." she looked towards the girl, "(Do not let her out of your sight. You had visions like this before, have you not)?"

"(I remember)..." he sighed.

"(Both of you must see the Medicine Woman before you leave tomorrow)," she declared, "(It will be trouble if you do not)."

* * *

 ***Niawen'kó:wa - (Kanien'keha:ka ) "thank you very much".**

 ***Ó:nen - (** **Kanien'keha:ka) "bye, now".**

 ***** **Kwah tokén:'en sén:ta'wh. -** **(** **Kanien'keha:ka)** **"Have a good sleep"./"Good night".**

 ***** **Wakata'karí:te -** **(** **Kanien'keha:ka) "I am well".**

 **So I've recently found a** **Kanien'keha:ka dictionary that I fully intend to use. Though, I can't put the link down here without the editing, clearing it. :/**


	8. Chapter 7: Petrichor

_To lead people, walk behind them._

 _ **Lao Tzu**_

* * *

The girl was pacified, but that brought no joy or relief to anyone. The Kanien'kehá:ka were a spiritual people—all dreams had meaning and spoke of puzzling prophecies. Ratonhnhaké:ton was prophecized to die by the hand of a British officer. No more could be said than that lest they reveal details of the Assassins and Templars. The villagers knew little of this ancient war between these secret factions and it was better that it stayed that way. Tsipporah was a bit tempted to say but knew she couldn't. They really took nightmares seriously...

The Medicine Woman waited for the children before they would take off to add more threads to the dreamcatcher she had to use last night. Instructing that she was to revisit the dream, Tsipporah hesitated to agree.

"(Whoever this British officer is, they must be fought by your own hand, girl)," she kindled a fire, "(You and you _alone_ must defeat them. Should Ratonhnhaké:ton attempt to fight this person, it will end in his death)."

"(...By myself)?" goosebumps rolled over her skin at the thought of taking on that maniac with a sword. That petite officer enjoyed what she did. Clearly, she was in the business of killing and business was good. They were training and they've yet to have anything high-octane since Boston in March. It was probably for the best considering how things turned out. There were too many variables. Tsipporah tapped her fingers on her hip in thought. She wondered if Ziio must have known that this would happen. She knew that her son would have to face so much and her village would see nothing but an unbearable pain in the later years. After all, it's written here in their history. She's gotten this far saving him once. There was still much to do for him, then. _He_ had much to do. Some sleazy hitman wasn't going to take that all away.

"( _I see_... okay)," every fiber of her being screamed " _NO_ " at the suggestion.

The native hunter widened his eyes at her. She almost died taking on the Red Coat. What possessed her to want to—?

"(Grow stronger and do not make haste)," she dismissed them, "(Go in peace that you may protect each other, but this... this you must face alone. Remember that. _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ )." She knew right away he'd try to interfere. He always does. It normally ends in a chaos that he would try to remedy. He was too much like his mother. Tsipporah snorted. The woman squinted at him as if he was the class clown. They made their way out of the woman's space, planning to leave in the cover of darkness.

"You will fight the British officer that attacked you?" he didn't ask out of doubt, but merely to confirm that she would. She obviously did not want any part of fighting someone so sadistic. "Are you certain you can fight alone?"

"Honestly... I don't know," her eyes searched through the dark, "All I know is that I'm a Watcher, I'm training to be an Assassin, and I don't want to see all of our hard work go to waste. Believe me, I'm _more_ than scared right now, but I don't think there was anything scarier in that moment than being unable to help my best friend."

The native circled around to see her face that looked to the ground. "I do not plan on having my life end and neither should you. We must tread carefully and train a few months more, but for now, you must rest—"

"While _you_ have all the fun?" she lifted a brow playfully. Her boss responded with a frown. " _What_?"

"Our training is a serious matter," his tone became severe, "I did not come here in the premise of levity. Even now with your dream, this is no laughing matter. I will see to it that our contact finds and shadows her movements. Anything she does, I will know of it."

"No big deal. Just report every time she breathes, blinks, or walks every two millimeters," her eyes pleaded for him to stay put _for once_ , "Just... Just promise _not_ to engage her—"

"You have my word," he nodded, "I have seen what you are capable of doing when my life is threatened. I will attempt no such thing."

He remembered all too well. She defended and fought hard to throw off the officer's attack, only to be gravely injured in the process. He knew he should leave her to the fight alone since even her mind's eye strongly suggests it. How could he, though? The officer was vicious and determined in her assault. The one drive his companion had in standing against her was him. She clearly was afraid to die much like when she distracted the bear in the forest in the hour that they met. Such a mighty opponent in skill or size failed to dissuade her. She needed more training to catch up to her determination. His musings were soon halted by the sound of low growling.

"Peachy..." Tsipporah gritted her teeth.

 _Wolves_. Of course, it was wolves.

Ratonhnhaké:ton wasted no time pulling out his weapons. The girl shrugged in annoyance that these events would happen when she was at her most vulnerable. She pulled out her hunting knife as well, much to the native hunter's dismay.

"Stay out of this," he argued as their opponents started to circle them, "You are too injured to fight."

"Did that ever stop you?" she countered.

He rolled his eyes as he sank his tomahawk into the first one lunging at him, keeping the girl at his back. His eyes and ears followed the numbers—only three more. A vicious bark was followed by another feeble attempt to kill. Tsipporah turned her foot to root herself as the predator landed onto her blade. Its blood sprinkled her face as another came. The cold air hitting her back proved to best the beast in a contest of pain, but the boy bested the beast in a contest of speed. Sharpened stone sunk into its fur—into the flesh of its throat—that emitted a strained yelp. Another soon met the same fate when he foolishly thought he could ambush the boy from there. The proud predators slumped into a lifeless lump of rich furs. The native hunter barely broke a sweat.

"Stay put next time," he lectured as the girl held her shoulder in labored breaths.

"Why? I was doing just fine," she tried to joke. Ratonhnhaké:ton was past the point of displeasure.

"You speak as if you can truly fend for yourself on poor planning."

"Wha—" she got to her feet, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did. Your injuries are serious and yet you still fight. Your recklessness will see you killed."

"Maybe I should stop hanging around you, then? Since recklessness and poor planning is such an issue with you, maybe I shouldn't have done what I did that day in Boston!" she had little grasp of the gravity of her words until they flew from her hands covered her mouth in a weak attempt to remedy the situation. No such luck. She could see it on his face—how mad those words made him past that stoic face.

"Yes," he reluctantly agreed, "Perhaps you should have stayed your hand."

The two made their way back into the snowy wilderness before the sun caught on their heels. Relief washed over them as the Homestead came into view under the warm hue of sunrise. The girl was more concerned if something had happened to their Mentor. The boy, on the other hand, had questions for the old man. This intruder had come to infiltrate the Homestead under suspicion that the Brotherhood was reforming. Should they be discovered, they would be killed. The girl recalled him from Boston—the one that convinced the Grandmaster to spare her. Why spare their lives then and not now became a mystery to him.

"Answer me, old man," he got between the two, "Who was that man that came here last night?"

"No surprise that you're curious, boy," he leaned on his cane, "I warned you before that if you stayed this course, then all you'll be is dead. That man was part of the reason as do many other Templars in the Colonies."

"Wha... What do you mean?" the girl fiddled with the dream catcher in her hands.

"Is _he_ a Templar?" Connor pressed for answers as he paced impatiently.

"Yes. He was one of us once. Before everything fell apart..."

Memories started flooding back to those days where the Homestead flourished as a base for the Assassin Brotherhood of the Colonial Rite. The old man smiled for a mere second only to replace it with a tired, bitter discomfort. The betrayal and years of exile filled into his mind.

"So he works for my father..." Connor nearly trailed off.

"Indeed he does. Haytham—your father... he hunted us down to the last man after the information he had gained from this man."

"But he spared you," the native apprentice pointed out, "Why?"

"I'll not reopen old wounds. Let us speak of other things." he waved his hand to end the sensitive topic.

The girl couldn't end it, though. He was spared, he said, but the day she and the native came to the property, there were mercenaries skulking about. Their intentions were to rob the old man as she thought they would. That's what she believed until she heard her boss' reasoning.

"Those mercenaries that came here months ago before you took us in..." she looked to the side, thinking aloud, "They weren't burglars, were they? They were sent to kill you and we killed them. That's why you took us in."

"I have my reasons for taking both of you in. To be clear of one thing: whatever you believe you will accomplish here by training will not happen. You've seen it yourself in Boston. The Templars are resourceful, ruthless in their execution, and they do not leave loose ends. If they have seen your faces in Boston and discovered your ties to me, then you've been marked for death—make no mistake about that." He looked to the girl. "By some miracle, Haytham spared you a violent death. You were lucky to have left Boston with a few scrapes. You would know from the moment you set eyes on him that he was not one to spare those that would be a threat to the Order. He is not one for mercy, even Ziio knew that."

Now that the old man was speaking of the incident of their failed mission, they wanted more answered. The boy recalled the night before he lost his mother that she spoke of his father: who he was, what he did, and why he would never see them or at least why she wouldn't allow it.

"My mother explained to me of him," he felt at his hidden blades, "Before the Templars came to my village."

"You have his confidence, his passion, but his is a cold heart and I do not think you share that."

Tsipporah looked between the two men talking, not feeling inspired to speak with them. Of course, he'd be like his father in some way. They both shared easily comparable features. Only his eyes and nativity is what he shared with his mother. The girl wondered if, unlike his mother, his father didn't seem to care about his existence. The Grandmaster was determined to see his plan through that he would even see his own son mowed down in the process. She could not comprehend the idea of a father using their children as a pawn to get what they want. Her mind instantly drifted to her time. Her own father using her as a scapegoat just to cheat on her mother unawares. That fish-faced whore was laughing at her face every time, even when her mother was present. Her mother never believed her story either.

The memory went even deeper; she had to nip it in the bud with some distraction. Seeing that her friendship with her boss was waning, she desperately needed it.

"I'm gonna go study," she patted her Mentor's shoulder, "Glad to see you're okay, Achilles."

The mentor didn't question it. She walked in earlier with a stern look on her face and instantly lit up after seeing that no harm came to him. He wasn't one to pry, but the girl was more trying than the boy.

"Hmph, another quarrel I presume?"

" _No_ ," he started, "She wishes to take the life of the officer sent to kill me in Boston. She claims she is afraid, but I doubt it will last long."

"I doubt she is, boy. You're already a terrible influence on her. You dare to defy and seize glory. Do you really think after spending time with you that she'll simply do things discreetly?"

Connor took offense to that comment. " _He's_ a terrible influence on her"? The old man gives her a taste of hell every waking moment that she would run, fall, fight, and criticize her handwriting. The training was appreciated in her eyes and told the boy that his severity was that of a "drill sergeant". Still, doesn't mean he should smack their hands with frame-rulers when they do something out of line in practice. The boy's eyes narrowed, looking in the girl's direction of where she left—to Achilles' room and not their own. She was actively avoiding him now for some reason.

"Anyway, I have another mission for you, seeing that you failed the first one in a sense."

"What is it?"

* * *

The native apprentice read the paper containing an address. He was then told to seek out Fillian as an aide to find weaknesses around the given location before getting in and out undetected. Actually killing a Templar would satisfy him, but this will do for now. He was to go there immediately, though, not without seeing if his companion was in need of anything. As soon as he went through the doorway, he heard her scrambling to put something away. Dragging noises followed. Once he fully walked in, she laid on the bed with a guilty expression. Few papers were swaying to the floor as pencils rolled in every direction. His eyes narrowed at the air of uncertainty as he glared at her.

"What were doing?"

 _ **"Huh?"**_ she barked anxiously. **"Nothing!** ...nothing at all..."

"You were never a good liar, Tsipporah," he gave a smug look.

"Uuhhh... _heh heh heh_..." her words easily died in her mouth the more she tried to think of a good excuse. It didn't deter her from what her true concern was.  
"Listen... I really didn't mean everything I said in woods. 'Thank you' should have been the first—I can't take care of myself right now. I saved you and I don't regret it, okay? I don't think when I talk sometimes. I'm so sor—"

The boy waved it off. She could still see it, though. He was unquestionably enraged underneath it all. It'll take more than a sincere apology.

"The old man sent me on a mission. I will not be back for a few days."

"You worried I'll be helpless, lonely and bored without you or something?" she delivered sarcastically. He thought for a moment of that.

"I imagine you will not be bored without me."

She threw a pair of pillows in his direction and he dodged them both. The girl knew he meant well—well never mind, not with that shit-eating-grin he wasn't. She tried to see if she could throw something else, but he promptly stayed her hands.

"Now you will promise me something, my friend: _rest_. The more you rest, the sooner you will return to your training. Will you give me your word?"

" _Ugh_ ," the frontier was so vast and unexplored that resting now was no longer an option. At home, resting was all she did since she traveled just about everywhere; it had become completely mundane. Now that there was more to be done here, sitting still was a challenge more so than before. "... You have my word."

"Hey, wait! What's the mission?"

"Rest, Tsipporah," he said as he ruffled her hair then backed away to the door frame. "That is your mission."

"That's not what I mea—" she tried to go after him, but he closed the front door behind him, "... ...What the fuck, man..."

* * *

More officers were to be deployed into Boston as soon as possible. One would think the task would be done so swiftly on behalf of the Crown. The days ahead were to be a blur of giving and taking orders in the army. The officer rubbed the bridge of nose before taking up the quill once more to finish documenting his reports to the Crown. At least the rioting was controlled by some Loyalists, but the fuse was lit to the powder keg. Seems his leader would benefit from the chaos that ensued not too long ago. He continued to muse deeply into the political conflict this could have in the colonies as the quill kept writing into delicate parchment. There were strategies to be discussed in private, plans to be made—a party to host.

For the briefest moment, a smile played at his dark, short boxed beard. Between the intrigues circulating and deployment orders being made, his daughter's nineteenth birthday almost slipped his mind. A banquet would be held in her honor. She wouldn't care much for it, though. In fact, she thought she was clever in hiding her secret from her father, but he knew for quite some time. Truthfully, he was quite proud of her prowess. They would be more powerful as a family together like this. He would hold a special party for her and give her an equally unique gift—one she could not refuse.

His quill kept its constant speed until it reached the end of the paper. Another sheet was drawn out with a sigh. He stayed his hand as soon as a figure entered. He quickly lifted his eyes to the rest of his office. A slender bodice in green with revealing thighs swayed her hips as she waltzed through the room of classical books and rich wooden furniture. Her body leaned over his desk so that its own had a full view of her full bosom.

"Hard at work I see," a smooth European accent fell from her red lips, "Do you plan on relaxing anytime soon, Commander?"

"I have much to do, Ms. McCarthy," he looked to his work, "Give this paper to my daughter. I'm sure she'll appreciate your company."

"Hmm..." she peeked at the note before folding it, "She sounds quite young, Commander. Is she the type to appreciate elegant balls? I sure am."

"I imagine you are, miss."

"Aye, be that way, Mr. Davenport," she lifted herself from his maple desk, "I'll let her know she's to be ready for the night of her life."

"She will certainly love what's in store for her," his hand remained meticulous as he wrote out the remainder of the report.

—

The woman ran her gloved hand through her red hair as she made her way down the hall of fine wood and embellishments. There was a beautifully done portrait or landscape at every turn. The burgundy and maple worked well in the dimness. It pays to use her natural talents to get so close to powerful men like Commander Matthew Davenport. Even more so for his daughter. She was so determined like him. The apple never falls too far from the tree. Her green high-low dress followed a perfect motion in her walk to the girl's room. She had to go across the courtyard to the other side of the property to reach it, though. The woman huffed as she briskly walked through the cold. Her feet came to a halt when she thought she heard something. She froze to the spot on high alert. _Nothing_. In her experience, "nothing" was always "something" trying to hide. Her eyes narrowed to the low brush of leaves. When nothing came of it, she continued to the girl's room.

"Ms. McCarthy, there must be a state of emergency, I gat—" red lips crushed her own, pushing her hard against the wall. After teeth threatened to graze her bottom lip, she bit hard onto the woman's lip. She backed away in a cackle. "Disrespectful as always."

"Hard to get like your father, lass," she licked off the bead of blood on her lip, "He sent you a message."

"What message is that?"

" _Me_." She leaned onto the girl again, "Check my pocket."

The girl was unamused. Pulling from the valley of her breasts, she unfolded a message from her father about a banquet held in her honor. She folded it back.

"I'm not much for banquets unless there is a business to discuss, Gilly. However, my father seems eager... I _suppose_ I can hold off my misadventures for this appointed time."

"Good girl. Now, my bonnie lass, Ellie..." she pressed against, "You're not skipping out on _this_ little misadventure, are you?"

The young woman breathed deeply, annoyed by the spices and perfumes this woman was wearing. Especially lavender, the scent that relaxed her the most. The heat in her core rose. This was a terrible idea. This _woman_ is a terrible idea. Her father had no idea that she was "fraternizing" with the likes of her. The first time was a mistake, but she had information that she needed. That would be the only time, but no. A full chest and warm body pressed her into the wall. Green eyes bore into her.

"My father doesn't leave his office until sunset. We have a few hours."

 _"Good girl..."_

* * *

Connor made his way through the alley as he recalled a week before. It took some time returning to Boston on his own; the old man wanted him to see if he remembered the path. The streets were still bustling with people going about their business. Markets still ran with owners shouting the supposed value of their freshly baked goods, the general store had colonists walking in and out, and town criers were speaking loud and clear on matters of current events. The alleyways were still dark and infested with rats. It best to follow them, though, since they knew where there were entrances and exits. The native apprentice had to make his way further down to rendezvous with his contact. The contact was always slippery.

"Afternoon, lad," the blonde approached him, "Lookin' for me were you? The old man sent for me. We're going down this way. Your mission starts there."

Fillian pointed to another path down the alley where the buildings elevated. The alley along the way had nothing but homeless and tired men as well as some orphans curled up for warmth. Connor passed by with regret, knowing that this was work done by the British who evicted some homeowners as explained by Achilles. He could never grasp why someone across a great ocean would have strict laws that do not benefit its citizens. There was more struggle than there was freedom. And slavery... to dehumanize humans only for the belief that they are not really human and place them in harsh environments with no pay. All that he learned from his books were coming back to him as he walked further into this alley where faces filled with despair resided.

"Over there, Connor," he patted the boy's back, pointing at the manor across the lane from their hiding spot. "That there is the Davenport estate. What better place to grab some info than here? Now as you see, it's well guarded to the teeth, this place. It'll take some doing to distract _all_ of them, so trying to go in the front's no good. Trying to circle out back is a dud. We'll have to do something a bit more clever than some sneaking in the shadows."

The robber wasn't kidding with the security perimeter. Every corner had a British soldier or Loyalist posted with full alertness. The two had to stay in the shade to avoid any unwanted attention. Just then, a carriage arrived at the front and a man stepped out with a letter and conversation. Unfortunately, it was out of earshot, but the gestures were readable. The man from the carriage appeared to be a merchant with a well-put attire like that as his men dropped some crates. With a "see you in two hours", he'd be back with more items. The apprentice had an idea.

"I will follow that carriage and see where it takes us. I can disguise myself as one of the workers if that comes to pass," the boy spoke out, "It must be heading to a storage of some kind."

"Right on then lad, I'll keep watch; make sure if the shifts change on us."

The boy had to avoid the rooftops for now. Those guards across the lane were too attentive to the littlest of details. He had to circle through the alley once more to pursue the carriage without raising alarm. Occasionally, he had to sit with crowds of people, protesters, and those sitting on the bench when he made it out of the alleyway. It was relieving to scale the buildings and chase after it more efficiently by rooftop. By the next few turns, the carriage stopped in front of a store next to a warehouse with workers bring out more crates. Connor slipped by them to the shadows of the crates until he snuck inside the warehouse, listening for any opening:

"Your shift almost done, mate?"

"You got it. Have to get back to the missus."

"Pray tell, she probably has a hot dinner waiting for ya."

"Pray tell, my friend. Just a few more minutes. James'll be off, too."

"Ain't he a bit young to be workin', though?"

"Whatever gets him money."

Well, that gave him two options, then. Maybe just one. _Or none_. He could simply wait until they're off duty. Could he really knock out a civilian worker just to steal his uniform? Something had to be done fast. Staying out here was just time-consuming and he needed to infiltrate Matthew Davenport at once. A younger worker passed by looking as if he was about to pack up. The boy skimmed through his bag when he made sure no one was watching him. Promptly, he pulled out a silver ring with a defined red cross on it. Connor widened his eyes at his discovery. He waited impatiently for the boy to leave and followed him out to the alleyway. Once there was no one in sight, the boy felt a strong grip wrap around his neck with a purpose. His vision was filling with black splotches and his air was getting cut off too quickly. Soon, he felt his body go limp into the cold ground.

"Forgive me," he said as he retrieved the boy's work uniform. Thankfully, they were about the same size. He pursued the carriage back to the manor and met back up with Fillian. The thief gave him a pat on the back.

"Looking sharp, boy," he then noticed a dreaded look in his face, "Something wrong, Connor?"

"No," he lied, "The shifts changed, so I will not alert anyone."

"You got twenty minutes tops since you're a sprightly one," the blonde sniggered. "Your lady friend told me so the night she stayed over."

"Ten minutes." Fillian went silent.

"I was just cracking a joke, lad, no need for a contest—"

" _Ten minutes_ ," he crossed his arms, "Distract the guards so that I may escape. Start counting once I enter."

Once the carriage pulled up, the boy used its cover to approach the front. So much for the guards being completely alert. He slipped into the group of workers that moved the crates. He had to keep the tricorne down so that his face remained somewhat hidden. Fillian did what was asked and counted down once the apprentice made it in, but didn't want to take any chances. The girl warned that he could be a tad bit competitive even in meager tasks. The manor of Matthew Davenport was grand; infinitely cleaner than the streets of Boston outside. Every inch was polished wood and marble with some hint of gold in the walls, stairs, and floor. Down one side of the hall ahead of the entrance were organized replicas of greek statues with maple shelves of books. The other side had large doorways leading into open space of a pleasantry room for guests by an unlit hearth surrounded by a salon of paintings on the wall and numerous handcrafted furniture. Connor would have a tour of it all, but there were other pressing matters. He had to maneuver his way around a harpsichord until he heard something worth hearing:

"Ah, Mr. Davenport. A pleasure as always!" the merchant gave an eager bow to his most treasured customer. "Your desired items have arrived. Now, I do recall that your daughter's birthday is within a month. Any plans on a custom gift?"

"My daughter is no average lady, I'm afraid, though, I have already ordered for something crafted specifically." A man with a British officer's uniform walked about with an air of dignity and arrogance about him. His uniform was British but more decorated with gold buttons running down his bi-colored jacket. He tipped his tricorne in conversation. "Still, I require your services for the banquet in her honor."

"Will your hands not be full with the little "incident" at King street?" the merchant placed his hands behind his back as his men moved crates into the mansion. Connor made sure not to lose sight of Davenport. "The soldiers will have to control the city in these crucial times."

"A tragedy, yes, but the issue is ours and ours alone," he left any details of the rioting stating that it's confidential. Civilians had no business knowing how the Crown would resolve this anyway. "Have your men complete the dispatches. Dismissed."

"Of course, Mr. Davenport. As you wish."

British soldiers watched as the rest of the supplies were brought back and forth inside. Davenport retreated to his study. There were still other things to report. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to leave the city so soon; he figured he should spend some time with his daughter. He walked briskly down the hall while Connor followed from a distance. There were statue busts on wide columns he was able to easily hide behind. The occasional low bookshelves were useful at the right angle. The Commander stopped at one family portrait of his with his daughter in a younger form as well as his wife. He sighed in nostalgia as the woman in the portrait had a hand on his shoulder and the other on her daughter's while adorned with pearls and a floral lace dress. Her brunette hair bundled into an updo with a few strands gracefully sitting upon her rosy cheeks as her full lips curved into a perfect smile complimented her pristine skin and large gray eyes.

Connor tilted his head at the daughter's appearance. She definitely looked familiar, but where? His back went against the wall as the Commander spoke.

"Dearest Mary, our daughter is aging as wonderfully as you have. I only wish that you were still here to see it. She has grown strong and brave just as you hoped. Your heart would swell at the sight for you knew her better than I did—she is no lady, but her deeds and exploits fill me with pride more than I imagined. Once her birthday comes to pass, she will be granted something that will make her talents more grandeur. A banquet will be held in her honor." He pulled out a silver ring with a recognizable red cross on it momentarily before looking back at the portrait. He went in the direction of his office next. The boy followed from the shadows.

He went in the direction of his office next. The boy followed from whatever form of shade he could find, then resorted to scaling the high shelves. His target went into his office to get back to work but found a bit of an attempt to distract him.

"Ms. McCarthy, I thought I told you—"

"Aye, I remember," her body laid out on his desk lackadaisically, "Just wanted to remind you that the Grandmaster will want a little love letter, too, since ye going to get to writing so much. So tell me, what will you give for her birthday?"

"Something I know she'll love," he shooed her off the desk, returning to his quill and ink.

"The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree then," Gilly responded, "We have to stand by for a meeting in six months. Hopefully, Eleanor will be there."

"Why so intrigued by my daughter all of a sudden, Ms. McCarthy?" his eyes narrowed with suspicion. She shrugged innocently.

"No reason, sir," she chuckled, "May the father of understanding guide us."

"May the father of understanding guide us."

That was all he needed. He confirmed that the man was a Templar. The boy's ten minutes were almost up and he had to make his way back, but there was another woman in there that was also a member. He hid behind a statue that stood by the door as it opened. The woman had striking features with her red hair and green eyes. Her attire was coquettish to put it lightly. She looked both ways as if she were expecting to see someone in the hallway. After a moment passed, she went in the opposite direction. The hall was finally clear, but Connor kept close to the walls just in case. A few more turns and the main door was in view with British guards trying to diffuse a commotion. The apprentice opened the door slightly only to hear a light thud and feel his hand get grazed by something sharp. He clenched his jaw to muffle any noises as he looked down. A dagger was deeply embedded into the door with his hand nearly caught only with a scratch.

It was a warning shot.

"What do we have here? A lost little lad?" the woman called Ms. McCarthy came his way, retrieving the blade from the door, but not without hovering over an innocent Connor. " _You seem lost_."

"I-I'm new," he feigned, "I think they left me behind."

"Glad they did, too," she leaned in close, "They left such a handsome one like... _huh_... you look familiar. Have we met?"

"I must go now." He swiftly moved from being cornered and slipped through the door. The woman narrowed her eyes as another figure walked up next to her.

"And who was that, Gilly? Another guest?" the petite girl didn't get a good look at the boy's face, fortunately. Gilly pursed her lips.

"An intruder, I believe..."

—

After making his way past the extending smoke screen, the native apprentice made it back across the lane.

"Alright, lad, that was ten minutes. Well done. Got the information you needed?"

"Yes," he backed away from the smoke spilling into the alleyway, "From now on, we are to watch Matthew Davenport and his affiliations. I must return to Achilles."

"You got it, boy," Fillian nodded, "Tell your lady friend I said 'hello'."

Connor had no idea why that last comment made him cringe internally. He decided to brush it off.

"Thank you for your help, Fillian."

"Anytime you need assistance, lad. I know these streets like the back o' my hand."

The blonde thief offered to take the apprentice back to the harbor but was refused. He had to learn and memorize the shortcuts as much as he could. It did not take long to navigate the decrepit streets for him. Following the rats made it easy. Streets of snow and bustling crowds came into view as he made a bee-line to the harbormaster.

* * *

"Old man—" Connor walked in the next morning only to find the manor deserted save for the floorboards completely replaced. "Achilles?"

He was met with more silence. Checking with his sixth sense, the manor was definitely empty. Wooden floors no longer creaked with each step. There was still more work to be done, but it was a pleasant start. Connor passed into his mentor's room where there were drawings scattered on the bed. Picking up one paper, he raised his brows at the contents: a... weapon? There were illustrated samples of what's needed to build it. Footsteps sounded at the front door before he could read the rest. They soon scampered gracelessly in his direction.

" _Aww..._ " Tsipporah pouted, "You saw the blueprints..."

"Where is the old man?" he asked.

"Nice to see you, too, boss," she rolled her eyes, "He's talking to Faulkner at the shack by the shoreline. He's expecting you, anyway."

He almost walked out, but the apprentice stopped him.

"You weren't followed, were you?" concern plagued her tone.

"No." He insisted, "I would be foolish to allow that to happen."

"Good..." she swallowed. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she swayed in place.

"Are you well, Tsipporah?"

"I... uh..." her head tilted, trying to think of a way to explain it. So much had happened in a week since he took on his mission. Some of the interior wood of the manor was replaced and painted, the blueprints of the Aquila were coming underway; among other things. "It's a girl problem, actually..."

"Are you ill?" his hand felt her forehead, her neck—any change in temperature would alarm him. She tried to contain the laughter. There was something precious in him going doe-eyed every time she hurt herself or catches a fever. She sighed roughly, thinking she needs to do something about her immune system.

"No, I'm just bleeding a little, so... heh," she moved his hands away.

"' _Bleeding_ '?" he took her by the shoulders, seeing where she might be wounded. "I told you to rest!"

"I'm fine, boss. Promise." She was too bashful to explain anymore.

She'd think being raised in a community where women made most of the decisions, he'd know what a period is. He didn't believe her words for a second. Aside from being visibly breathless, she looked fine. He shot a look illustrating how he'll return with more questions that'd better be answered. Snorts of ill-repressed laughter seeped through her nostrils. At times, her friend's innocence was hilarious. In those times, he did not appreciate her finding the comedy in things he knew little of. He took off to where he could relay information to his mentor.

Waiting along the shoreline was Achilles and Faulkner reading over a hastily drawn sketch of the Aquila. It had to do for now until the girl could receive a larger paper. Sailors gathered on the dock singing shanties with liquor in hand. The elderly man warned to keep them sober better aid in reconstructing the ship. The acting-captain begged to differ as they are functional regardless. Connor approached the men as they exchanged sharp remarks.

"Old man," he called in a leveled tone.

"I see you made it back in one piece." Faulkner nodded and backed out of their conversation. "How fares with the target?"

"He is a Templar without a doubt—he and his daughter. There was a woman there who spoke to him who is a member as well. I requested that Fillian watches their movements and report further information."

"Who was the woman he spoke to?" Achilles never lifted his head from the labeled sketch.

"Davenport called her 'Ms. McCarthy'."

"Gillian McCarthy, no doubt. Red hair, green eyes, and _shameless_ attire?"

"Well... yes. How do you know her?"

"Joined not too long ago, boy. This one follows wherever there's promise of money and power. Whatever rewards her with luxury, she will do it without question. A boy your age and months of training would be nothing to her. Davenport's daughter, I'm afraid, is of a different caliber. She often disappears and where she turns up is anyone's guess."

"Eleanor?" he recited the name and Achilles nodded in kind.

"Let that Fillian boy collect the much-needed information, but what's more is his daughter's involvement."

"A Templar meeting will be held for her in six months."

"And will be well guarded. The girl's wounds would heal by then. By some stroke of luck, the manor and the Aquila will be restored as well. As you were, Connor," he shooed him off, "I had better find you in the training area when I return."

Connor nodded off to the back of the manor where dummies had been set up for some time. They were propped up, awaiting their eventual destruction. Single shots had to be fired into them within a certain time limit. The boy wanted to see how much he could do in one go. He had already picked up a couple of flintlocks from the basement beforehand, loading them as fast as he could. Shoot them all in a single run. He and Tsipporah were shown beforehand, but he was too eager to try as he was with every subject that would strengthen him ten times over so that he may take the Templars. Each detail of the loading had him fascinated more with the build of firearms. With the careful measure of powders added, a pad wrapped around the lead shot pushed down into the barrel with a ramrod—knowing that such an explosive weapon could instantly injure his targets affected him. The dummies before him were helpless to the shots they received. Each of them now having a gaping hole in the heart or head.

The loading time lessened as he counted to himself. Leaping through the towering trees, the native hunter managed a rhythm between the loading, the shooting, and his own momentum. Adrenaline filled him to no end as the dummies soon turned into the faces he would see silenced forever. Faces that, as long as they lived, were a constant reminder that his people were never to live in peace. His fluid movements proved deadly as he closed in on every target:

 _William Johnson..._

 _John Pitcairn..._

 _Thomas Hickey..._

 _Benjamin Church..._

Charles Lee... _Charles Lee... **Charles Lee...**_

 _ **"...Ratonhnhaké:ton!"**_

He snapped his head up to see where he was. How he was. Drawing a quick breath, he looked down to see a ruined pile of straw that took one too many shots. The hay that was carefully sewn tight sprawled in every direction. The apprentice rose from its ravaged frame, now feeling the weight of something locking his arms for dear life. His head turned to see his companion looking as if she'd ran a marathon.

"What the hell... _were you doing_?!" a medley of emotions spilled from her lips that he was lost on.

"Practicing," he looked away. No doubt having comprehended what occurred. It was a wonder how the girl got here, seeing that he was deep in the forest.  
"Did you run?"

"I _was_ teleporting... then I heard gunshots; I thought there were bandits or something. I came here and you—I had to hold you back, but that took some doing. Whatever that was, that was _**not**_ 'practice'," she tried to keep calm as she wiped her brow, "I'm pretty sure the dummy was dead after the first shot.  
I— _Seriously_ , what is going on?"

Tsipporah knew she shouldn't get so overworked over the state of a straw shooting dummy, but whatever she witnessed was more merciless. The native hunter slipped his arm from her grasp and kept his face from her view. The girl once thought that he was blowing steam from what she said earlier. This wasn't it. There was an issue of another sort.

"You should return to the manor," his voice lowered with each word. The other apprentice furrowed her brows but understood. She extended her hand to comfort him and he responded, wincing visibly. Her palm curled back in a retreat as she wordlessly dissipated into the air.

Achilles stood by in the distance for a short time before he, too, receded.

* * *

Dying chills of the events prior left a distasteful air for anyone walking about the manor. Lessons on psychology and sociology continued until it was time to prepare for dinner. The boy insisted on working the stove since he'd gotten better at it. No one argued due to back pain on both parties. Waiting on the cooked meal wasn't as agonizing as when they all had to sit together to eat. More silent as the grave, save for clattering of utensils and chairs against the polished floor. Tsipporah couldn't stand it—eating like this was just as uncomfortable as it was back home. She would normally sit at the coffee table at this point or even her own room. The issue was painfully obvious in a way. Her companion hadn't forgiven her completely, yet something else had set him off. The thought of doing away with the Templars, perhaps?

Her thoughts eventually took her to Ziio and Haytham. They must have loved each other. That passionate woman thought of him as she was dying among other things. The more she dreamt of the moment she took her last breath several months ago, the more she could see into what worried her most: her son turning into his father. Tsipporah absentmindedly chewed at an empty fork in her melancholy. Achilles finished his meal despite the tension his apprentices made.

"Tsipporah, wash these dishes, utensils, and clean the table as well," he stood up with his cane.

She stared for a few seconds. He... Achilles never called her by her name before. It was always "girl", "you, girl", "troublesome girl" or something else with "girl" as the surname. She complied, collecting the plates until she got to her boss. Only now she realized that he barely touched his food or drink and merely prodded it a few times before giving up altogether. Tsipporah gave the mentor a worried pout at the boy's expense.

"Um... _boss_?" no response, "You barely touched your food and drink and _everything_ , actually."

However briefly, the boy looked at her for the first time since that afternoon. The horses were there, but no one was driving the carriage. He won't talk. Not yet, anyway. Her jokes normally cracked him up. No, she shouldn't try. Achilles did want that table clean, though. The girl was no stranger to how teachers would treat their students who lazed about before the 1920s: they were within their rights to beat the child black and blue. They were supposed to turn in for a lesson review, but the old man let them read by themselves and they had to answer questions the next morning instead. The girl almost poked fun at how considerate the old man was getting. He sat in by the hearth in his rocking chair enjoying some after-dinner tea.

"'Questions in the morning'?" the girl prodded, "Since when did you go soft on him?"

"This is the Brotherhood, girl. There is no room to be soft." He took in some freshly brewed leaves and set his cup down. "Naive and much too eager. It has been awhile since I've worked with someone too determined in his studies. His wounds are still fresh it seems. He believes as long as he works swiftly, the Templars will come closer. The boy lacks patience and restraint. If he learned to master these, then he can become the Assassin that this order needs and a protector his village can depend upon."

"Charles Lee was led by his father to destroy his home, but he puts all of that blame on Lee himself."

"You believe he has no desire in harming his own blood?" Achilles looked from the corner of his eye.

"You saw how he looked at him when we first went to Boston," she gestured, "I know that look _too well_. He got all doe-eyed seeing him from afar and not on some conspiracy wall in a portrait... but he knows to go through with it. Otherwise... why come all this way to screw it all up?"

The mentor hummed for a moment.

"You want to see him become an Assassin, is that it girl? You're not here to seize glory, not here to learn to kill—only to see that he is on the proper path. Is that right?"

"I should sleep here tonight," she breathed, "That much is clear. Goodnight, Achilles."

He nodded in kind as she got back to the dining room. The meal was left alone after all. Connor must have gone straight to bed. The girl pursed her lips as she finally cleared the dining room. She clenched her jaw at the sensitive pain her back was feeling, regretting on insisting Diana should rest tonight. At least its intensity lessened every day. Groans passed through her breath as the sting was akin to pulling out jagged glass shards from the flesh. Some slower than others. Riding out the pain, she placed her hands on the dining table. Her head lifted to see Connor gazing intently from the doorway.

"Yo, boss," the girl gave up, sitting down.

She figured he must be getting better at sneaking about. He was as quiet as a church mouse. He walked around the table, vigorously doing as the old man instructed for the girl to do. Tsipporah protested that they were _her_ chores, but he didn't listen as usual. She rubbed her temples when fatigue started to claim her body. Once he was done, he went back upstairs.

"Boss, wait," she went after him.

It wasn't much of a struggle for the stairs; she just couldn't stand too long with a straight back. His strides were faster than before. Just when she got to the top, the door almost closed. She wedged her foot to keep the door open.

" _Niá:wen tsi wahsekshnié:non_ ," she spoke through the opening, "(Let me in, Ratonhnhaké:ton)."

It was an odd comfort, hearing her speak his native tongue. Such an act would win him over. No such luck this time. She forced her way in instead. His stubbornness normally distanced him from her. She also knew for a fact that he was much more difficult to overpower—opening the door should have been more challenging than that. He backed away until he sat on the mattress. The girl slowly came in with no idea how to go about this. Only his back faced her.

"Boss, talk to me..." she pleaded. One night he lets her in, the next he's closed up again. It's like they had no progress, to begin with. "I didn't mean what I said yesterday and I don't even what possessed you to—At least _look_ at me, please."

He was surprised that she even wanted to speak to him after what happened. During his speed run, he blacked-out at the thought of taking down the men who assaulted him. The same men who burned his village and killed his mother in their wake. It was the same he shared blood with. As a child, he'd often think of men from stone villages that spewed fire from their hands as villains who would cut away at the life his people had. The same that would condemn others to slavery simply because they were different. He knew his companion must have been terrified to see him that way, but brushed it off for his sake. She kept trying to apologize for those spiteful words the night before. Deep down, he figured he should have been more alert in his surroundings. Perhaps, then, she wouldn't have to suffer from the wounds she had now or the nightmares that now plagued her. Worrying too much would get in the way of studying. He figured to get his turbulent feelings sorted by himself to focus better tomorrow. He couldn't protect anyone being so melancholic like this.

Light footsteps circled around the room, then to the door. The girl must have been going through her belongings. Though, she didn't seem to leave right away. Plucking noises started sounding off behind him. The encumbering weight of his actions robbed him of any curiosity of whatever she was up to until she sat against the door with her fingers brushing melodic strings:

 _This empty heart runs past you time and again  
_ _I'm sorry that I can't be any help to you  
_ _I wish I could, but more I wish that you understood  
_ _That even now, your pride won't let me share your pain_

 _I'll live on and leave all of this fear far behind me  
_ _I'll get back on the track, all without looking back on this lonely rail_

 _You know that I would follow you no matter what we go through  
_ _Bring all the darkness the world can offer,  
_ _Because you'll shine no matter if the future is bleak  
_ _We'll aim out just beyond the boundary,  
_ _And even if it scares me,  
_ _Nothing can shatter my soul  
_ _Because your way is my way  
_ _Forever on this railway  
_ _As if we were God blessed_

 _This tenderness, a feeling that I cannot express  
_ _Melting my walls, it finds a home inside my heart  
_ _We don't need fate, no rhyme or reason to correlate_

 _Only the now that overflows, lovin' you  
_ _Let's escape and chase after the dreams we both create  
_ _And maybe then we'll mend  
_ _So then you can transcend beyond your lonely heart_

 _Don't you dare lie, it isn't like you  
_ _Please, tell me it's not true  
_ _Look in my eyes, we can work this out  
_ _We'll put it in the past, so let's begin the future today  
_ _Even if everything around us seems as if it's hopeless  
_ _I am prepared to take on the world  
_ _It's all for my wish, I ask if it will come true  
_ _But that only God knows …_

 _I've found where I belong  
_ _I once was all alone, but now you're standing here  
_ _The world around could disappear  
_ _The beauty of our dream, we'll capture it on canvas,  
_ _You can and I can trace over our permanent scars_

 _You know that –  
_ _Please know that I would follow you no matter what we go through  
_ _Bring all the darkness this world can offer,  
_ _Because you'll shine no matter if the future is bleak  
_ _We'll aim out just beyond the boundary,  
_ _And even if it scares me,  
_ _Nothing can shatter my soul_

 _Because your way is my way_

 _Forever on this railway_

 _As if we were God blessed..._

The cadence was reached soon after. She wondered if he listened at all, but she tried in the few ways she knew how. Pacifying was never really her forte. Emotional involvement was more foreign to her than his native tongue. Tsipporah circled around the bed to put her guitar away. Well, it was worth a shot.

"Forgive me."

She stopped midway to the door to turn on her heel. " _Forgive him_ "? For what, exactly?

"The act of taking a life disturbs you and I have not made that a comfort for you," he finally faced her, "You deserve a normal life, free from all of this. Perhaps then, you would not have been hurt or obligated to look after me."

"I should punch your stupid-pretty face for talking to me like that," she seethed, "You're the one who deserves a normal life from all of this. Were you planning on suffering alone in all of this? _Huh_? We are a Brotherhood—we look after each other. _Never_ forget that. The hell am I forgiving you for?"

He certainly didn't expect her to raise her voice like a scolding mother. The act of it all raised his spirits in some way.

"What would you have me say, then?"

"That you'll talk about whatever's bothering you," her voice softened, "Even if it's just me listening."

"...You will have to entrust to me something of that nature as well."

She restrained a nervous laughing fit by some miracle. They just agreed to not hide anything. She knew she missed him talking, sassing, showing some hint of emotion, but maybe she was taking this too far. Assassins shouldn't be so involved, should they? Goosebumps danced across her skin at the thought of telling him all the gritty details of her life. She looked over to him and he could see the discomfort written on her face.

"You got it, boss," she quickly agreed before her doubt took over, "Also, the old man will probably have your hide for spacing out, then again he gave us until tomorrow morning to see if we remembered anything we learned until now."

"We will have to stay awake for that, then."

The girl gave a "pfft" before plopping on the bed next to him, curling into a ball to sleep.

" _Sahsontiióhak_ ," she yawned.

* * *

 ***Niá:wen tsi wahsekshnié:non - (Kanien'kehá:ka) "Thank you for helping me".**

 ***Sahsontiióhak -** **(Kanien'kehá:ka) "Have a good night".**

 **Song does not belong to me. ©LeeandLie Huge fan of her english dub covers. :D**


	9. Chapter 8: Assemblage

_"Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence."_

 _ _ **Leonardo da Vinci**__

* * *

Nights were spent lucid dreaming of what clues could be found in what a Watcher's duty truly held. That native woman—that clever, brave, and passionate Ziio—sent her a flurry of memories for months on end, but now they've stopped. Several days went by in a loop of training, reading, preparing food, chores; the girl swore the old mentor made sure the two never had time to themselves save for the hunting. Unbeknownst to Connor, she used her power to visit his village in hopes of gaining access to the sacred mound that may hold some answers. The Clan Mother refused her passage to the site. Tsipporah unconsciously bit her nails in those moments to herself. Questions of why her boss' mother abruptly cut her off became a complete enigma. The tomes that held information of the Watchers were destroyed. And even though she gained some semblance of trust, the Kanien'kehá:ka wouldn't offer their assistance. She had no idea nor will ever have a proper chance of knowing what exactly the Watchers do or have done on Earth. No instructions to receive. No one to tell her what her duties were. Must be something important enough to have teleporting powers instead of a sixth sense.

The only boon visiting the natives brought her was Alsoomse's service to her. They spoke in the young woman's special hut of strong wood and endurable animal skins over a warm bonfire with hare meat cooking over it. Telling her of the natives' fate to come wasn't as painful as she imagined.

 _"When will this come to be?"_

 _"It's happening now and you know it. It... it'll suck even worse later."_

 _"Why not speak to Clan Mother or even_ Ratonhnhaké:ton _of this?"_

 _"I think Clan Mother already knew this was coming after the first attack. Ratonhnhaké:ton..." she sighed, "Will only see it as a challenge to change his people's fate. I highly doubt it would dissuade him from being a big-damn-hero. Colonist or British, the natives get the worst out of this. The slaves are no different. I just want everyone to be alive and safe, too, when this is over..."_

 _"What do you propose?" her tongue flicked a piece of corn from her teeth to the side._

 _"_ Uh... _" the girl gathered herself, "First of all, the boss says you travel sometimes. Do you think you can get me some_ special stuff _? I'm having something built. I'll explain along the way. Also, talk to other tribes and see if you can get a few of their strongest warriors on your side without raising too much of an alarm. You're pretty tough, so I know you can do it."_

 _"You ask a great deal of me,_ tubby _," she picked her teeth again, "Aside from a long, perilous adventure, what do I receive in return?"_

 _"Anything you want," she immediately regretted her words as_ Ms. Moose's _face lit up in mischief._

 _"'_ Anything' _, you say...?"_

So now the girl had to wait approximately three to five months before she saw her CD-player _and_ her CD wallet ever again. Her boss often asked where it all went, but she would fruitlessly lie about it being lost or destroyed.

Tsipporah ran her fingers through her wild curls. She set up the table while the men were still reviewing lessons. A promise was made to Connor that she'd teach him about what information science had on the universe in the future before bed. Eagerness filled him the rest of the afternoon. Nearly scared the daylights out of her with his doubled energy. It made for an interesting distraction like homesickness. Though, she often wondered what exactly should she miss.

Her mother trying to make her something she's not?

Her father lying to his family like a third fluent language?

Her siblings certainly didn't need her. Her sister is independent and her brother is smarter than he realizes. Her parents never exactly supported her talents all the way. All that mattered to them was that she was cultured enough to show off. At least she got the chance to travel and see the world. It never diminished the caged-in feeling, though. She twisted her face in thought. Maybe she should really tell Connor what's going on. The boy gives her a sideways look for every time her brow bends in melancholy. He already told her much about his tribe and his resolutions. Not much would be said if she kept to herself all the time.

 **"Dinner's ready!"** she called from the dining room. Footsteps sounded from around the corner. "It's deer meat again but I gave it a little pizazz."

"As long as it's edible, child," Achilles huffed, "What else is there?"

"Tea, mashed potatoes, corn, squash, biscuits, apple pie, cake from Diana, sweets from Catherine—"

"Ah..." he grunted, "This will do. Really, girl, there's only three of us here. No need to make food for an army."

" _You_ need to eat," she lectured, "And Connor eats like a— _see what I mean_?"

She caught sight of her companion filling his plate as she spoke lacking any capacity for guilt in that moment. They made eye contact, but it failed to distract him from fetching the tea.

Or the corn...

Or the deer meat...

Or two _more_ pieces meat.

His hand was almost met with the back of a silver spoon before going in for another steal. The girl waved it in warning as she narrowed her eyes. Returning her glare, he wasn't the slightest bit threatened. Achilles shook his head and sat with his fair meal. He sipped his tea as he opened a pamphlet he received from Adams. The man was currently in the process of driving out the number of British soldiers in Boston. No doubt he would use the propaganda to aid him. Paul Revere was good in that department aside from smithing since he worked with Sam among others. Rabble-rousers raised their volume on the talk of taxation. Soon, boycotting will ensue in the colonies. If things continued the way they were, a war was sure to begin. The Templars were sure to use it as a way to crush the rebellion and dominate a nation trying to fight against a future of being conquered.

The mentor sighed as his apprentices found it fitting to use their utensils to swordfight with. They scraped along the platter of the remaining venison. The energy was tense for both parties. Despite the sting of her wounds, the girl's frustration kept her going. Her stubbornness only encouraged her companion to fight even harder. Achilles slammed the table.

 **" _Connor_ , sit and eat your food so that you may return to your studies! _Abigail_ , do not encourage him further!"**

Both apprentices stared blankly. Tsipporah was lost on his command. The old man must have caught onto what was said because he quickly finished his tea, excusing himself from the table.

"Achilles?" Connor furrowed his brows.

"Eh... I shall finish my meal in the kitchen," he took his plate, "Finish up here and we'll return to lessons."

The Battle of the Venison Platter was soon forgotten with the air confusion left behind. The two looked at each other with a shared question in mind. Though, it had to be left alone. Their mentor shared all that happened in the past with a steady pace. Should they confront him now, he would distance himself from them and days would be spent buried in laborious studying for their trouble. Connor gave an importunate look. Tsipporah frowned.

" _Eat your food_ ," she dismissed his silent proposal.

"Something is troubling him, Tsipporah."

"We can't pry into people's business, but clearly he'll talk about it when he's ready."

"Have you not seen the graves outside?" his tone became severe. The girl tilted her head. A lightbulb turned on overhead.

"Ah... ' _Abigail Davenport, 1955_ ' and ' _Connor Davenport, 1955_ '."

They stumbled upon them when they walked about the property the second day they were unable to convince the old man. Two graves were there side by side in the backyard with two names bearing a shared surname. Bouquet of withering flowers sat at the edge between them, though, "withering" was too kind a description. They were beyond the state of rotting as if the duty of honoring the deceased was long since abandoned. The girl proposed to replace the rotten weeds with something more befitting. After climbing the cliffsides and breaking a few nails in the process, another suitable bouquet was found for the grave. The native was still cranky about being turned down that afternoon. Anger hotly coursed his veins and gave off more radiation than the sun itself. He still dusted off the graves, fixed the flowers at the foot of the tombstones, and made sure the girl didn't lift a finger after scraping her hands climbing. Tsipporah wasn't sure if he was trying to be productive with his anger or he didn't hold grudges for long. Looking back, she realized his kindness was stronger than his resentment—too empathetic to feel indifferent.

"I will speak to him," he barely touched his food. The girl pulled him by the collar and pointed at the unholy mountain he created on his plate. " _Later_."

 _ **"Now,"**_ she didn't slave over the primitive iron and brick stove for nothing.

He clenched his jaw at the strong command. If he didn't comply, she'll cook up some unique punishment. The native gave a hard look before sitting to eat. It amazed her almost every time now. The first few months of living together, despite his friendliness, he avoided casual contact like the bubonic plague and would stand his ground against her whether it be a simple command or a heated debate during their lessons. Sometimes, he'll admit when she is right. Him admitting he was in the wrong was something akin to the end of time and space, so he'd resort to sulking in taciturnity instead. It proved difficult not to laugh at how childish it looked. If she snorted even a little at his compliance, he'll challenge her again. New tension gathered as they ate in silence. The boy finished speedily.

"Leave your plate," she barely cleared her own, "I'll wash them any—"

He gathered his utensils to wash in the bin. Tsipporah pressed her lips into a line wondering why he was having an attitude all of a sudden. Attitude or just the urgency to talk to Achilles? He circled back for her utensils once she finished as well.

"Boss..." she stopped him from walking away. "Tread carefully. I think Achilles doesn't talk too much about the past for the same reason we don't."

"I have told you _my_ reasons and the old man gave some explanation of his own," he pointed out, "All you speak of is your knowledge, your heritage, what your family does, and refuse to answer to anything else."

"Ugh, I thought you we were worried about Achilles here?" her chest pulled into itself at the thought of saying anything more about her family.

"I worry for the both you. I am not blind to the sorrow he is feeling, but the old has long given up on the Brotherhood. It is his duty to see the Assassins thrive, yet no matter how much he contributes, he will always expect failure and so chooses to contribute so little. He has experienced the worst, yes, but has little to no drive for retribution for his fallen Brothers."

" _Who the_ fuc _._.." her smile held no mirth at what she was hearing, "The man taught us the history of the Templars and Assassins. You know more about the world now than you did six months ago. Hell, I can do math off the top of my head right now. And you can't say he's the reason they failed! We don't even know how bad things were here! How do _you_ even kno—"

"I watched my village burn to the ground, Tsipporah," he confronted gravely, "I know more than _you_ of what he's suffered. Do not speak of the past if you so chose, but I will not cower behind my own and allow despair to fester. You asked if I trusted you and I gave you an answer. I gave you my word that you are a dear friend to me. Though, it seems that the feeling is not mutual."

Her insides grew hot at his words. For rage or impassioned by them, she didn't know. The girl clenched her jaw the more he prodded at her. It felt all the more aggressive, but he barely raised his voice. He never does with her. It sounded hurt—disheartened by her lack of desire to reach out. He was right, but also wrong.

"Not everyone is strong like you, Ratonhnhaké:ton," she faced the floor, "And _yes_ , I trust you. It's just... Some people can't deal with it. Some people just want to forget the past."

"And forget their purpose along with it," he added, leaving her in the dining room.

He always had to have the last word in every argument. The girl pouted. It irked her to no end. He was getting good at that—getting under her skin. It served no other purpose but to out-talk her. She figured there was no point in an argument unless a point could be made. That was not the case this time. He straight up lectured her on something that slowly ate at her soul and festered in her mind. She couldn't think of a way to explain the domino effect of hell that was her life. The last person she spoke to about it laughed at her face. It made her feel less than inadequate like it was the most trivial problem for anyone in the 21st century. Being somewhere else was pure therapy for her. Well, listening to music would be a second. She laughed, remembering she'd given CD-player away and the boy was still less than thrilled by its sudden disappearance.

After clearing the dining table and tending to the dishes, she went to join the lesson in the reading room. They were supposed to go over architecture and world religion, but that wasn't going to happen it seemed. Connor paced about, wondering if the old man was going to come about. Tsipporah pursed her lips. She guessed he would have to be upstairs? There was a fourth room with items imperative to the Brotherhood. The boy stopped her before she went to investigate.

"He is not here," he crossed his arms.

"Outside, then? He couldn't have gone far."

They exited the side door to circle around the backyard only to find him already. Their mentor stood over the two tombstones with names nearly worn out. He barely turned to see them but felt the presence of his apprentices. Their silent approach was becoming a forte for them now. It did little to distract him from what he wished to avoid, yet here they were.

"I had a wife once, did you know that?" he saw the fixed bouquet of flowers and the tombstones dusted when those two first came. He figured he should have berated them for stepping onto his property once more. In the end, he was secretly grateful for the gesture.

"Who was she?" the girl walked next to him.

" _Abigail_ —a woman of rare beauty and grace," he replied, "Why she chose me when she could have had anyone, who could say? But she did."

Speaking of her brought a scarce smile to his face. For a moment, the gray of his face lit up and banished the tired wrinkles of his skin. He daren't give too much detail of her eyes as brown as strong oak trees in the forest or melanin unblemished and perfect. Every word from her was a comfort in his home—their home. It was as if the very mention of her not only resurrected the woman herself but the joy that once was before the harsh, ashen reality came crashing down that she was gone.

"Then she bore me a son," he turned to Connor, "You share his name. They were everything to me."

"...Earlier, you said something about a fever...?" he had to ask. The graves have both passing in the same year.

"...The slow fever took them, and what did I do? Only watch and wish to join them." The despair returned, but the full force was brought so long ago that he was numb to it. It was a constant visitor in his heart and memory. "Nearly did in fact... but I proved too great a coward. I could take the lives of others without hesitation, but when it came time to claim my own, then I faltered. _Pathetic_..."

"You cannot blame yourself, Achilles," Connor came to his mentor's side.

"But that's all in the past," he nodded off to the manor, "better focus on what's in front of us."

They returned to the reading room. Lessons resumed as if what went on outside didn't happen. It was strange. The more this boy was around, the more compelled she was to explain everything. The girl did not expect Achilles to say anything at all. It warmed her heart knowing that he and the old man had gotten closer in a way. She was afraid of this teacher-student relationship getting rocky after what happened on his first trip to Boston. He was irritable for every other lesson for some time. If they had fewer casualties then, things would have gone smoother sooner. It never stumped his noble heart, though. He always seemed to know what to say and when to say it. Well... sometimes.

The girl felt the night creep in her bones as a yawn passed her mouth. She quickly covered it. Achilles had a knack for hitting her with the cane every time she made a noise during lessons. He gave her a hard look.

"...And so, this concludes our chapter on Renaissance architecture. Make sure you both remember this for the next lesson. Study amongst yourselves for the next few hours before going to bed. Dismissed."

It was sure to be past ten in the evening. Three hours for a lesson without a break was too much before. Now time moved quickly. Tsipporah released the strength of every yawn she had to repress. She stretched from her hips in a circular motion to renew the function of her muscles. Once her stamina was restored, she turned to leave to go to Terry's lodge. They should be expecting her. Connor had already left the room. Whether to his bedroom or elsewhere was beyond her.

"Thanks for the lesson, Achilles." He waved it off. It was only his duty as a mentor. "...And thank you for saying what you said earlier. I know mentioning your past wasn't easy."

"There are many other things I still cannot bring myself to say, but seeing as you both stayed with this old man for so long, you were at liberty to know. The Brotherhood look after their own. It is not uncommon for any of us to experience the harrowing realities of this world. In order to bring peace to this world there had to be peace amongst ourselves. It is an old cliche, but it holds true."

"...Did Connor tell you?" or lack of thereof.

"Connor has no need to inform me of anything," he stood before her, "It is clear that the both of you can work together and accomplish something, but you fear that trusting him with your burdens will be your downfall. Do yourself a favor, girl. If I can put up with your constant quarreling and entrust the struggles of the Brotherhood in your prepubescent hands, then you can tell him of your troubles. You know all too well of his already."

She could.

Not yet. Just... not yet.

At least, now she had a good feeling about it. The boy was hardly invasive. Still, he deserved to know. She gave a sincere smile, wishing her mentor a good night. The night could have ended there, but an impatient native stood at the front doorway to undo any attempt of the girl leaving for the night. She'd laugh if she wasn't a little tired. Sleep refused to claim her, though. He also knew too well of her habits of sleeping at ungodly hours of the night.

" _Boss..._ " her voice became rough with fatigue.

"You promised to teach me of the universe and places beyond Earth."

"It's late, though..." she whined. He only persisted.

"You. Promised."

"I swear, you're like a five-year-old sometimes."

* * *

In a few months' time, the restoration for the manor was nearly done, but the Aquila was still under repairs. At least sparring inside was no longer a challenge. Tsipporah's wounds weren't fully healed, yet she continued to hunt and train with the stamina she had. She practiced how far her power could go. Boston appeared before her eyes one time. Another time, she was outside of Kanatahséton. Images that were familiar to her would come into view and her body would be transferred there. Soon, it became clear that any place she visited once before—imbedded in her memory—is where she was able to teleport to. It was a wonder, that. She questioned how Ziio was capable of transferring her all the way to this time. The subject became something of a fascination. Not like the ones she would find in this time, though. It also begged the question that if her ability grew stronger, could she travel through time itself?

"Hey, lass!" Godfrey called out to Tsipporah who reading by the stables. She eventually stood and walked in his direction. Her steps came to a halt when she sensed someone behind her. She wasted no time drawing her blade.

"Christ, lass, I wasn't gonna hurt ye." It was only Terry. She nodded in apology but stopped when she noticed the blindfold in his hand.

"Where's Connor?" her eyes never left the blindfold.

"Well, he did say he had something to show ye. He told us to bring ye near that hill. We were gonna take you there." Godfrey explained, a little downtrodden that they failed to surprise her the way they wanted. The girl understood that they meant well.

"It's okay, guys. I'm sorry, it's just... This is a total deja vu for me..." she swallowed, "Where is Connor now?"

"He said he'll wait over by that hill," Terry pointed, "You sure we can't...?" He gestured with the blindfold again. Tsipporah laughed.

"Surprise me another time, guys. I'll go look for Connor."

Panic rose in the pit of her stomach. The time of day, the season, the location—all that was in her dream had now come to life. She really hoped that wasn't the case. Tracking him would be less time consuming if he wasn't so good at covering them. The girl picked up the pace to the next hill. Keeping her steps light, listened hard for anything strange.

 _Nothing._

Nothing, but birds, small animals, and the wind against the tree branches.

There was nothing until she reached the top of a hill. She let out a small gasp. What appeared to be a small colonial home of red brick and a gray tiled roof sat overlooking a part of the forest as well as the shoreline. Curiosity almost hooked its claws in her before her focus went back to finding her boss. Tsipporah was just about ready to searching for him until she saw the sign over the door in bold letters:

 _ **Martell Arts & Crafts.**_

"What the fu..." she briskly turned with her knife in hand as she felt something blocking some wind behind her. The metal sang as her strength moved it through the air expertly with a dangerous warning. A stronger hand caught the girl's wrist with little effort. Grimace filled out her expression upon seeing her opponent. Thankful that her anxiety was put to rest. "You haven't been mauled by anything in the woods, I guess."

"That was very poor footing," Connor lectured, "And your grip is still too—" he swiftly loosened the knife out of her hold, dropping onto to ground, "—forced."

"Are you going to keep lecturing my stance or give me a tour of the studio?" she lifted a brow, but the apprentice kept an impassive front.

She held a secret prayer that he would keep lecturing her. His voice had changed the past few weeks; no longer having the awkward crack it had before, every word carried a soothing note. The rounded face abandoned for a more angular one. The girl tried to take her hand back, but no such luck. Then a small smile appeared on her companion's face. She responded with a frown. Once upon a time, seeing him smile in training was something she couldn't help but return. Now it held nothing but an ominous challenge. That glint in his eye convinced her to really sit this one out.

"Or perhaps you defeat me in four moves?" he released her wrist.

"The loser...?" she pressed.

"Loses £20." He crossed his arms as Tsipporah narrowed her eyes, glaring in disbelief. She considered having a lecture than that. He waited with a rare, smug look on his face for his friend to simply give up. The girl pouted.

"What if I don't accept this challenge?" she sneered.

"No? Then I suppose you have no interest in having this returned to you." He went under the welcoming mat of the new studio and pulled out a familiar item. The girl went ashen. "Rest assured I have yet to see its contents."

"...Connor give that back or the Red Coat will be the least of your worries," she spat a grave warning. He knew how much her sketchbook meant to her. He wouldn't purposely provoke her... _would he_?

"Four moves. And do not use your ability. I will do the same."

He held out the book for her to reach. Foolish. It'd be pulled from her and she would be down to three moves. Sparring together for some time, he'd recognized her patterns by now. Warm air filled her lungs as she circled him; his ears listened to her every step. Once adjacent to his stance, courage moved her. A firm strike channeled its way to her foot as her body leaned. Her opponent knew too well to go for the root. His usual force would see that her calf muscle tears, thus giving her a light dose of his power. Downed on one knee, her hands caught his before his palms ended this round. The swiftness of his retreat summoned a small wind that gave him the perfect opening. Dust rose as she spun away from a fist whose contact would make her ancestors dizzy.

She had to hit him— _at least_ lay a finger on him.

Less than a second he was before her, armed with his next move. A face plant into the grass was all she recalled after. The girl inhaled, not realizing how badly she winded. Her boss wasn't using his full strength, though, that much was clear. She felt his body lean over hers from the coolness of his shadow.

"You can surrender now, Tsipporah. There is no need to continue." That somehow stung more than the fact that he took a precious item of hers without permission.

That somehow stung more than the fact that he took a precious item of hers without permission. A frustrated growl escaped her throat as adrenaline shot through her veins. Her determined hands gripped onto a fistful of hair before she laid waste to his skull with her own. Before she came to, her body fully straddled her opponent in a headlock. The apprentice blinked a few times to process what spirits had possessed her in that moment.

"That was carelessly done..." he barely tapped out. The girl wondered if he even wanted the fight to be brief at all. "But you struck hard this time."

"You're not gonna strike me down when I let you go, right?" she enjoyed the sudden thrashing, though. He could tell. His silence fed her anxiety. She didn't want to take any chances, especially with how tense his muscles were getting. Perhaps she should let him go... _screw it_.

"No promise. No freedom."

 **"What are ya two doin' rollin' in the dirt?!"** Godfrey and Terry ran up the hill with the look of a disappointed parent. Both teens scrambled away from each other, but neither felt guilty of their little exercise.

"Connor, ya got some explainin' to do," Godfrey confronted, "The lass went ashen, thinkin' somethin' happened to ya—"

"—Then we find the both o' ya makin' a beast out o' two backs?!" Terry added, "No wonder the old man was worried about the lass!"

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Faulkner joined the fray. Godfrey and Terry explained their side, but the sailor shrugged his shoulders. "Well, looks like we got somethin' to discuss later then, lad. Lass."

"I do not understand; nothing happened." "We didn't do anything!"

Both were worn out from the scuffle. The men didn't seem convinced that they simply _sparred_.

* * *

The sailor gestured for the two to go inside the new art studio before the lumberers scolded them any further. The two men outside eventually walked off after a debate on whether the kids were really up to something at a place where many could see them. The three walked on the wall-to-wall dark, polished wood, making their way to the nearest set of furniture. A "squee" emitted from the girl as she was greeted by a trio of easels over an adjustable desk that had the length of two desks. A closet filled with supplies came after. Each shelf had various wet and dry mediums as well as stored brushes with writing utensils. Scrolls of canvas, print paper, and vacant journals laid at the bottom.

Her chest tightened upon seeing how much paper laid there. The taxes on paper were still rampant. She hoped Connor didn't highjack every British soldier just to purchase this much. The men approached her.

"Do you... _like_ it?" he almost sounded hesitant.

She hasn't heard that tone in a millennium. The studio had enough elbow-room and wall space for greater works. There was a separate writing desk on the other side of the room. A connecting den had a hearth in place and had a small bed there to her surprise. At least she didn't have to bother the other residents here. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything she needed was here.

" _It's perfect_ ," her voice was lower than a whisper, but enough for him to hear her gratitude.

Faulkner cleared his throat loudly.

"Now I see why those two assumed the lad's been tossin' ya. It's alright—I was young once. No need to feel ashamed."

"Jesus!" the girl exclaimed, "Nothing happened! We were sparring! We've done so for awhile!"

"Why have you come, Mr. Faulkner?" Connor asked directly. The sober sailor pulled out a newly furnished chair to sit on.

"I was wonderin' if you could join an old salt on an errand," he started, "Still gathering a crew, you see. If you're up to it."

Tsipporah wanted more time alone in her new haven, but gathering a crew sounded thrilling. Connor nodded in reserve. The more men, the better. It would also add to his mundane schedule. When he wasn't training outside, he was sparring inside; and when he wasn't doing any physical activity, he'd read the volumes of history and learn more of the Templars occupying the colonies. The girl knew how the days would go. By the end of it, she'd study in the sitting room, but go to any of the Homesteader's homes to sleep—as commanded by the Mentor. She didn't question why she could no longer share a room with a fellow comrade. He, on the other hand, thought this unnecessary.

After informing Achilles, they took off.

* * *

Faulkner's plan was to skim the coast for sailors. The task proved too easy with those who didn't mind the open air and the sea breeze. Hard work came easily to those men who knew that life on land held little opportunity when the sea was calling them. Sailors were a rather interesting bunch. Upon entering a tavern near the port, the three were met with obnoxious shanties filling the room more than the food and the stench of ale. Some men sat on tables only to fall over with others laughing heartily. A man walked near the table to give Faulkner a slap on the back. He was pale, toned, and wore the rugged attire of all the seven seas rolled into one body. A sneer graced his muscular features.

 **" _Fucking Faulkner_! The hell are you doin' back here ya fat old salt? And bringing some fresh, young blood in here?"**

"Looking for some sailors, James," he gave a firm pat on his back, glad to see a familiar face, "Property's bein' restored."

The large man's face relaxed before a roaring laugh shook him.

"The goddamn Ghost of the North Seas will haunt the waters again? Am I hearing you right, Bobby?" he received a confident nod. "Well, good to see that you'll be captaining again, Bobby. Miss those days off the shallows. I'm sure Miss Mandy'll appreciate your return."

The veteran sailor shook his head. He took a step to the side to show more of the young native with him. The girl stood back a few paces as Faulkner continued to speak.

"The lad's named Connor—he'll be captaining the Aquila," he continued, "He's helped restore the property and he's a good lad—"

The man laughed heartily. A bit _too_ heartily. It went on as if he'd heard the funniest joke in his entire life and would go into cardiac arrest soon. Connor narrowed his eyes. This sailor quickly underestimated him just by looking at him once. The girl didn't know why, though. The boy didn't exactly look like a _little_ boy. She only stood a good five feet with a few inches over, but the boy was long, towering over her and could see eye to eye to any fully grown man, and had the stride of a horse. If not for the loose tunic, others would notice how toned he was from years of hunting and months of training. Tsipporah was mystified by the fact that this man laughed at someone who took on a fully grown bear in the woods. It was a shock to hear that Faulkner decided this either. She kept looking over to her boss who seemed less than thrilled by the sailor's response. His face was cooled, yet his eyes flickered dangerously. His fists slightly shifted at his sides.

"He's a _boy_ , Bobby," he wiped a tear from his eye, "Does he even know how to work a ship? Better still, has he ever traveled the seas?"

"No James, he doesn't—" he laughed again, "Damnit, James! Are you in or not?"

"Ha ha, I'll tell you what, Bobby, there are others waitin' to sail the waters with the old girl, but I hoped you'd captain the ship. God knows you deserve it with your experience. But the boy's gotta prove himself."

"He will—"

 **"Here and now,"** the other men pulled the round tables away to use as a barrier. The tavern floor was soon bare as an arena would be. "Take out a few of my boys and me, then I'll call you my captain, _boy_."

"Um..." the girl interrupted, "Are you sure?"

Connor gave his friend a sharp look as the other sailors laughed at the sight.

"Calling back your bonnie _lass_ , girl?" he prodded. Tsipporah shook her head.

"Nope. I was asking you if you're sure. I mean... he _can and will_ personally fuck you up."

James sucked his teeth in disbelief as the tavern maid drew a line at the center of the circle. She waited until the first sailor arrived at the mark. He wore a shipworker's uniform, shaking his short dark hair, he flexed his muscles in a taunt. Raising his fists and putting a leg back, he hollered at the boy to come forward... unless he was scared. Connor gave the girl his weapons to hold until he was finished mowing them all down. He approached the line, too fixed on his prey to be dissuaded by his useless taunts. The maid went with the rules:

"Alright, men, we want a good, clean fight," she spat tobacco over her shoulder into a nearby mug, "Ahem,

 _1_ ) Don't start until you step on the white line.

 _2_ ) Keep the fight in the circle, so no throwin', no kicking— _fists only_.

 _3_ ) Once ye hit the ground—fight's over.

Understood, gentlemen? Then feet to the line; let's see some blood!"

Faulkner wasn't surprised that it came to this, but he had little to worry over. The boy was Achilles' own apprentice. He'd do fine. He did better than "fine" in fact. The crowd in the tavern shouted no different than if it was a colosseum fight. Their voices overwhelmed the tavern walls as their fists pumped in the air.

When the two men met placed a foot on the line, the sailor arrogantly threw a fist, aiming for the temple. His confidence was soon replaced by confusion as his punch struck nothing but air. The man nearly fell over but steadied himself only feel the ungodly smiting to his jaw. Everything instantly turned into blurring defeat as he fell forward in his own blood and drool. A silence fell over the crowd. The woman of the tavern came in as soon as she gathered herself, declaring Connor as the winner.

"Told ya," the girl cracked a smile. The sailors only grew more excited, seeing that their opponent wasn't a " _wee lad_ ".

Another came to the line, stretching and cracking his neck. Calm reserve remained with the apprentice as he sized up his next victim. His build was broad and fit. The uniform he bore had trouble containing his well-defined muscles. He raised his fists in a modern boxing stance, firmly rooting his feet in a sidestep. Fighting was his forte, it seemed. Connor felt a rush in his veins knowing that this one would prove to be challenging. The referee gave both fighters a moment of breath before starting on the count of three.

Once the third count came, so did the larger man's fist. A blitz of punches gave the boy no time to block save for a few. Not a minute passed and his heart was beating wildly in his ears. The girl pressed her mouth into a thin line unable to process what had happened. She blinked and her boss got himself black and blue in the jaw. It was lost on her whether it was the adrenaline or that his recovery was speedy. His opponent passed his thumb by his nose, beckoning the young lad to try to land a single blow. An inaudible growl sounded in his throat. With his legs, he lunged forward. Closed fists swung in an onslaught that was impossible to block. Each blow was precise with power moving it.

Faulkner cheered as the apprentice won yet another round. The people reveled at the sight. The girl held his weapons close, occasionally whooping for every hit that landed. She admitted this was better than WWE. Rather, more realistic.

"The lad's very skilled," a dulcet voice stood from the crowd by the girl's ear, "I wonder who trained him."

Tsipporah turned to her side. She almost staggered. Green eyes met her dark brown ones as the brawl went on. Red lips on smooth, pale skin bent into a smile that the Chesire cat would be envious of. The woman stalked uncomfortably close.

"Who are you?" the girl purposely bumped into a distracted Faulkner who noticed the woman at last. He stammered upon seeing her.

 **"G... Gillian McCarthy!"** instinct told him to draw his weapons, but that would be ill-advised in this tavern.

The girl was all too prepared to strike her down if even Faulkner was shaken by her. Gillian chuckled at their expense.

"Peace, Faulkner," she gestured her vulnerability, "I am unarmed. What could a girl like me possibly do?"

An eruption of cheers heightened in volume as soon as another body slammed into the ground with dust rising in its wake. Far from breathless, the boy kept his sternness to the sailor that started all of this. He longed to silence this man that dared to think little of him. The woman of the tavern was ready to walk in to announce the next fight. James would be his opponent at last. Instead of the tavern woman, another waltzed in to redraw the line. The urge to turn ashen was quickly snuffed by the redhead's appearance. She taunted a kiss at the boy when their eyes met. His brows furrowed.

" _You_..." his tone went cold.

"Nice to see I'm memorable," she gave the fighters some space, "Pay attention, boy, or he'll feed you your teeth. Are we ready?"

Both sized each other up. The larger sailor took some interest seeing the boy's capabilities. He'll have some fun, he gathered.

 **"Fight!"**

She backed away to blend with the audience once the two went at it. Slipping herself to the tavern exit, she kept the boy at the corner of her eye until she escaped. Both hands pressed against the door as if any of the spectators would readily notice her leave. Gray stone and rats came underfoot once more. As her memory served her, she was to return to the docks to report her findings. Revealing herself to the target was unprofessional, but she did want to confirm her suspicions for herself. Seeing him the first time piqued her interest. Now she was certain.

—

Deafening cries of observers were no longer filling their ears. Each moved in for a determined, aggressive strike. The larger sailor huffed tiredly but refused defeat. He started to question just what this boy was. His movements were fluid as if he were air itself. Every punch thrown passed by. After three of his best fighters, one would think he would tire. The boy's stamina failed to waver unlike his own. Everything started to blur in exhaustion, but he wouldn't let some scrawny kid know tha—

An inhuman force threw his head up. As he looked to the wooden ceiling, he attempted haymaker. Connor easily deflected the blow and caught the next one.

And the next one.

 _And the next one._

 ** _"Yeah!_ Lay it on 'im, boss! Fuck 'im up!"** the girl boasted in every jump.

 **"You got this lad!"** Faulkner waved his fist in the excitement.

The swings became predictable as James recovered from the uppercut he received. Connor had to hand it to him for his persistence. An eternity passed before he visibly slowed. This had to end. _Now_. The sailor mustered all of the energy he had left, throwing his last shot with a purpose. A grunt sounded in his throat as it was caught by a smirking apprentice. His face fell stoic once more before he pulled him forward to bruise his jaw. James grew dizzy gritting his teeth to ride out the pain. Being trampled by horses would be a mercy in comparison. Connor held back up, daring him to fight again.

"Do you yield?" a glint in eyes invited another challenge.

"I yield, _Captain_... I yield."

The man laughed tiredly even when he fell forward onto the ground. Other sailors that followed him circled the boy and the tavern woman raised his arm in the air, declaring him the champion. The men helped the defeated to stand upright as Faulkner gave his shoulder a firm grab.

"You shouldn't have put the lad in the ring," he shook his head, "Next time he'll wipe the deck with ya!"

"Heh, can't wait," he weakly punched Connor in the side as he sat down, "Ever considerin' on joinin' the Boston Brawlers, boy? Could test more of your strength there."

"I will see for myself," he looked around for his companion and she sprung out of nowhere.

"Congrats on the victory, boss," she handed his weapons back, "You only got struck a couple of times. _Impressive_."

"Did you see the woman in green—"

"—in skimpy clothing walking through? Yeah. She left before your last round. Faulkner seems to know her, too. Why?"

People helped shift the tables back in just as the door opened. A boy of a familiar crown of blonde rushed in with the locks of his hair whipping back and forth, searching through the crowd. His sights were set on the trio and made haste in their direction. Bowing his head, he spoke hurriedly, grabbing the native in alarm.

"Connor, ya gotta leave, lad," he huffed. The apprentice held up the other as he caught his breath.

"Why? What has happened?" the girl and Faulkner listened.

"Gotta cut this short, lad," he sped, "A patrol of lobsters is headin' this way—lookin' for you. Their leader's out for your blood. You gotta leave! Now!"

"I could use my telepo—" Tsipporah suggested, but was stopped by her boss.

"Many would see. None can know what you are capable of."

"Then what do we do? The redcoats are coming any minute!" the thought chimed in her mind.

 _Redcoats... was that woman leading them?_

 _Did Gillian McCarthy summon them to arrest them?_

The three gave a pause and one of the sailors piped in.

"Knowin' them red-coated ninny-hammers, they'll pick a fight with anyone. Get over here lads!"

James nodded to the woman of the tavern who pulled a lever that moved the entire shelf of liquor bottles aside. She waved for the group to come hither. The three wasted no time to venture through the secret exit. James stayed by the hidden passage until they were past the doorway.

"See you at the Homestead, lads," James nodded, "I'll follow once we deal with these louts. Careful wet-nursing our new Captain, Bobby. Not that he needs it."

Connor gave him a hard look that eventually softened. Their eyes met and wrote a silent compromise. The man only sought out to test the boy's strength and was satisfied enough. Now he had earned his respect. It had to stay that way if he was to truly be worthy of the title of "captain". He was the first to make his way down but slowed so the others would follow. The temptation to aid them was too great, but to do so would lead them to believe their new captain thought little of them.

"Don't die on me, Jim," Faulkner chuckled and James shook his head. The girl hurried to face him.

"Thank you for doing this, Mr. James," she hopped up and gave him a peck on the cheek before going back to the others.

* * *

The sailor closed the passage as the clamoring of officers filled the one side of the tavern. Worry and guilt ate at the girl as the soldiers were notably looking for them. Fillan had joined them so that they weren't pursued once they left the passage. It was short and required no lantern for it lead to the other side of the docks with light peeking through the exit door's window. Filth from the sea salt made the smell unbearable. The apprentices were only glad they couldn't get a good look at the dark walls of the space they walked through. Faulkner looked back occasionally to see that they were not followed. When all was clear, he kept up with their pace until they made to the docks. Fillan passed a stressed hand through his blonde curls.

"We cleared up that problem, but we got more, lad," he turned to Connor in his urgency, "I was comin' to see ya since ya got into town again. Wanted to tell you what I found about Matthew Davenport."

"What is it?" Connor nodded for him to continue, but the boy looked over to the other two. Connor waved it off. "It is alright; now tell me, Fillan."

"I'll be quick," he cleared his throat, "Matthew Davenport's daughter works for the Templars as you know. Pretty damn good at whatever's given to her, too. Her name is Eleanor and she's one hell of a military brat. Too good with a sword in hand. Doesn't take a shine to anyone with skin darker than hers either. Davenport gives the most important missions to her, but it looks like the Grandmaster's the one that ordered the hit on ya, lad. She's on the warpath right now."

"A racist psychopath, then?" the girl replied, deadpanned. "What do bo— _AHH_!"

He suddenly grabbed her sleeve and felt the wind rush to her back. She released a breath once she saw that they hit the ground to roll away from impending danger. Faulkner pulled out a cutlass in defense as the woman in green sneered as she rose to her feet. Turning on her heel, she exaggerated her disappointment.

"Oh, dear. Looks like I missed. Do not worry, though, my wee bairns, this woman _always_ aims to please—and I know I shouldn't be a cock-block, but the least you two could do is get a room."

"You're not taking another step, ye siren!" Faulkner's blade sang a warning to her person.

Gillian stopped to roll her eyes at the sight.

Fillan drew his hook as his face twisted in pure hate, pushing past the two apprentices and the veteran sailor.

" _Gillian..._ " he seethed. She blew a kiss in response.

"Hello, little brother," she gave a toothy smile.

"' _Brother_ '?" Tsipporah echoed in bewilderment.

"Lads!" Faulkner interrupted, "We have to go!"

Officers in red poured in from one alley. Then another. With how they were directing themselves, the woman in green was leading them, no doubt. Their bayonets readied themselves on the group that backed into each other. One of the decorated officers stood out amongst the others, ordering for the misfits to drop their weapons. The girl rolled her eyes as he went on with a long-winded warning. She looked about her allies to see if everyone were in direct contact with each other. It was a hunch and she never attempted such a feat, but the fewer casualties, the better. Her hand folded in Connor's. Then Faulker's to his confusion.

" _Take Filan's hand_ ," she whispered loud enough for the men to hear, " _This has to work with_ direct _contact_."

"Tsipporah, do not try it..." Connor warned.

" _Do you think we're in a position to debate about this_!?"

He reluctantly took his comrade's hand. His companion practiced her abilities enough, so this should be nothing. Concentration was another story. She had to empty her mind and picture all of them in a safe place. Caution had to be taken since she never tried to transport that many people at once. The distance had to be short. _Very short_. With a breath, the image of King Street came to mind. It was the most familiar. Hopefully, there weren't any soldiers, officers, dragoons—

The girl was immediately pulled into an alleyway as soon as her eyes opened. She knew too well the putrid scent by the rats were concentrated there. She watched from the wall she was behind. Cries of rabble-rousers were posted at every corner, drawing more agitated men in red. The cobblestone streets were busy with more uprising than business. Brick and wooden colonial buildings lined up at the corner of her eye and there was the State House.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"Magic, Bobby," she grinned, seeing that her method worked as she counted every head present. Fillan crossed his arms in frustration. "Fill?"

 **"I'm fine,"** he answered quickly.

Anger pulled at his heart. He had hoped to never see his elder sister. Then again, both of them knew the streets of Boston well. Only now, she had politicians at her feet as well as money. Gillian had more at her disposal; a vast network. He only had whoever crept between the filth of each colonial structure.

"Leaving by boat's no longer an option," Faulkner pointed out, "Those damned brits are scattered everywhere."

"I can try to take us back to Homestead," she offered.

Tsipporah thought it best to leave the city entirely. She teleported a group with no problem the first time with success. The boy was a bit on edge about the proposal and was right in the end. Before the girl could bring about the familiar fractals that laced her hands, she met with the dirtied ground. She grasped her nose as her face grew hot enough to be a fever. Her hand had collected a string of warm, red liquid. Licking her lip, she saw that her nose bled. She ignored the ringing her right ear was receiving as her comrade came to her level.

"I told you not to use your power."

"What? Do you have any bright ideas?"

Connor recalled the tunnels the Free Masons used. Looking beyond the wall, he saw more patrols walk briskly as the protestors continued. He visibly shrugged. He would have to clear out the patrols. They would have to scatter in order for them to disappear into the tunnels. The girl tugged his sleeve.

"Don't even think about it," she narrowed her eyes.

"Then what do you propose? To use your power again?" he didn't wait for an answer, "Fillan, you will take them to the nearest tunnel. I will make sure you are not followed. I will find you once I have taken care of the patrols."

" ** _And_** lowered your notoriety," the girl reminded.

They had little choice but to follow this course of action. The other three slinked away and Faulkner muttered about what a mad bastard Connor was to take on a whole patrol. Tsipporah clenched her jaw when she saw officers of red and olive green swaggering down the lanes of cobblestone. There were about four, which was unusual. The wave of their readied swords shined in the light of the afternoon that was due to leave. Eyes were fixated on whatever trouble the protesters would bring. The olive green of their collar covered most of their faces. The three found their blood running cold seeing their fearless leader gaining the attention of one. In no time, a fight ensued. The teen cursed under her breath.

"Oh shit... of all things..."

A group of _Jägers_.

It just had to be Jägers.

* * *

 **Training saga ends in chapter 10. :D**


	10. Author's Note II

This obviously isn't a chapter update, but rather some much-needed feedback. After establishing my original character, I'm not sure if it's just me or that I haven't established her enough for the OC to even have this much development with Connor... Like I feel like I rushed their adventure and now it's just a jumble of emotions, conversations, and not enough of a story pyramid following to be even considered a story.

Personally, after a while, it felt like the OC was only called into the past for one specific reason rather than just her being pulled into another time, which is one of the most crucial times of America's development as an independent country, so as much as the main goal here is a romantic development, is it just me or am I really veering off the portion where they're in dangerous times and the part where everything's adventurous? If that's the case, then I might have to do a redo on these chapters.

In any case, I need some critiques. Does this need a bit of a do-over? And be specific where and why.

Thank you!


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